


Angels to Fly

by SlytherPouf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bath Sex, Canonical Character Death, Death Eaters, Drama & Romance, F/M, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Oral Sex, Post Hogwarts AU, Post-War, Pre-War, Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship, Virgin Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-22 06:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 162,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13161198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherPouf/pseuds/SlytherPouf
Summary: Forced to give Hermione Granger private lessons, Snape soon finds himself desiring something he cannot have, and it begins to consume him. He looks to escape, but the Endgame has been Seen and there is nothing that Severus can do to change his fate. Is there? Bit of drama, a bit of angst, a little twisted romance and of course some sexy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** This story is a non-profit-making work of fanfiction. Anything you may recognise belongs to JK Rowling. ***

Chapter 1

Hermione was crouched halfway down the stairs in Grimmauld Place, trying to hide as much of her body in the shadows as possible so as to prevent the discovery of her attempted eavesdropping. There was a meeting of the Order taking place in the kitchen, and despite her seventeenth birthday being mere weeks away, she had still not been permitted to attend. 

She was staying at the Burrow for the last two weeks of the summer holidays; as was Harry, and had cajoled Mr and Mrs Weasley into allowing her to come to Grimmauld, since Bill, Fleur, Fred and George were all in the Order and leaving the Burrow for this meeting, but on arrival, Professor McGonagall had flatly refused to allow her anywhere near the kitchen table, so she was forced into the humiliation of lurking around on the stairs, hoping to overhead a crumb of information, like a naughty child. She supposed she could have Apparated home, but that seemed churlish. She would bide her time, it was only a few more weeks before she came of age, and then not even her fearsome Head of House would be able to prevent her from attending any meeting she so wished. 

Dumbledore was in the meeting tonight, so it was clearly an important one, she seethed, internally. Lupin and Tonks were present, all the Weasleys, Kingsley, Sturgis, and many other Order members, not all of whom she knew. It was their first meeting since returning to Grimmauld Place after the death of Sirius Black at the Ministry two months previously. Harry was the new and legal owner of the secret-kept townhouse, and he had confirmed to Dumbledore that he gave his permission for the house to continue to be used as the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. 

Harry and Ron had not seemed too bothered by being kept at a distance, on the contrary, her two friends seemed more disinterested and more immature than ever. She had left them at the Burrow with Ginny, discussing racing brooms and next season’s Quidditch team, since Harry had just received his letter and badge informing him that he had been made captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team for their sixth year at Hogwarts. She wondered whether perhaps he had been given more information during his visit with Dumbledore than he was letting on, as Harry seemed calm and even enthusiastic about returning to school. He was still grieving his godfather, of course, maybe he was just preoccupied with that. 

Hermione was just wondering which of the Order members she had not seen enter the meeting yet, when she heard a crack of Apparition on the front step, and the door pushed open smartly. She barely heard the footsteps approaching down the hall, but they were definitely there. Shrinking as far back as she could, into the shadows, she saw the wraith-like figure of Professor Snape stalking down the hall, although was he actually stalking? He looked to be walking somewhat painfully, with a pronounced limp to his gait. 

As her fearsome Potions teacher came into the dim glow of the one light that hung from the ceiling of the Grimmauld Place hallway, she was shocked to see a large wound on his forehead, dripping blood down the side of his face and trickling down his neck. Both of his eyes looked as if they had been blacked, and he had a split lip; swollen and sore. Hermione tried not to make a sound, but her eyes widened like saucers at the sight of him. 

He stopped almost opposite to her hiding place, such as it was, and looked in the large, ornately-framed mirror that hung a little way down the hall from the curtained portrait of the foul-mouthed Walburga Black. She heard Snape curse softly under his breath at the sight of his reflection, draw his wand, and begin to cast non-verbal spells that started to close his cuts and siphon away the blood, including that which had stained the collar of his white shirt that peeked slightly above his all-over black clothing. Once he appeared satisfied, Hermione distinctly heard him cast a glamour charm over himself and watched his face transform into its usual sallowness, hiding the extensive bruising and injuries below the covering spell. 

Examining his face in the mirror, he flicked his eyes upwards and caught hold of her own; wide-open and terrified, in the reflection behind him. He whirled around, his gaze neutral, but she could detect the anger within. 

“Miss Granger,” he hissed, dangerously. “Has no one ever advised you how very ... impolite it is to spy on others?”

“I wasn’t spying, Sir,” she whispered, as he appeared unwilling to be overhead, “I was just ... just ...”

“I do not wish to hear your excuses. You will forget what you have just seen, do you understand?”

Professor Snape spoke in a low, urgent voice that she had not heard from him before. Usually his speech was slow and languid, caressing the words before delivering them, in order that each one should be fully understood by his listening students. Right now he seemed ... almost flustered. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. I would not wish to inflict an Obliviate on such a formidable brain as yours. Good evening, Miss Granger.”

He whirled away from her, inspecting the spellwork he had performed on his face one final time in the mirror, before stepping softly down the hall. On his second step, his left leg seemed to buckle slightly underneath him. He redrew his wand and fired yet another non-verbal spell at his knee. There was a sickening crunch of bone against bone, and Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth in disgust, although she forced herself to make no noise lest she provoke his ire again. 

Turning his head halfway, he glared at her with one black eye through a curtain of greasy hair that was falling across his face. He appeared to note her shocked expression, but did not acknowledge it. Snape began to walk with more intent and purpose down the long hallway, his footfall becoming louder, until he reached the heavy kitchen door and opened it with his customary shove, causing it to spring back and slam hard against the stone wall behind it with a loud clatter. The few gasps she heard from the kitchen meant that he had made his dramatic entrance, as was no doubt his intention. 

As he entered the room, she heard Dumbledore’s voice welcoming him, and before he closed the door behind him she caught a glimpse of the coolly neutral face that she saw every time he entered the dungeon classroom to teach. No one could possibly know that a few minutes ago he was cut, bleeding, broken and limping; as he was now masked. No one in that room would have any idea that he was suffering. 

Hermione felt an unfamiliar stab of sympathy for the unpleasant wizard, although had he just described her mind as formidable? 

That was unexpected. 

\- xxx –

On the 31st August, with just a single day before the students returned to the castle, Severus Snape was pacing around Albus Dumbledore’s office, attempting to ignore the portraits and infuriated beyond belief, yet again, at the gall and presumptuousness of this aged bloody wizard. During the summer, the headmaster had managed to inflict an eventually-fatal injury upon himself, but despite needing his help to heal it, Albus would not tell Severus how it had happened, only that he had touched a dark object that he believed had been impregnated with an irreversible curse. 

Severus had used some fairly dark and explicitly forbidden magic to contain the curse within the headmaster’s right arm, but had been forced to warn him that it would eventually spread, that there was no doubt it was terminal damage, and that he would certainly be dead within the year, slowly dying over the following months and most likely in terrible pain in the final weeks. It wasn’t the most auspicious news he’d ever been obliged to impart. 

However, Albus appeared to be taking the news remarkably cheerfully, and had clearly spent the remainder of the summer holidays making a series of plans, all of which gave Severus grave concern, since he appeared to be the lynchpin of them.  
The most horrific of Dumbledore’s entreaties had led directly to him making the Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy at his home in Spinner’s End during the latter part of the holidays. The only good thing that had come out of it was that taking the Vow had wrongfooted the vile Bellatrix Lestrange, who suspected, quite rightly, that Snape’s loyalties did not lie with Voldemort. 

She still didn’t trust him, he knew that. The witch, although bloodthirsty and somewhat deranged after her stint in Azkaban, was definitely not stupid. She had good reason not to trust him, she just needed the proof and was determined to find it, and he was equally determined that she would not. 

The reason for his current pacing was his utter frustration with the headmaster. How much did Albus think that one wizard could take? How much could be heaped upon his thin shoulders before he shattered and died under the pressure?  
Dumbledore already knew the answer. Severus Snape could take anything. All that had been thrown at him, and he was still alive to tell the tale. 

Not that he had anyone to tell it to. 

Just over a year previously, after Voldemort’s return to a corporeal form at the end of the Tri-Wizard tournament, the Dark Lord had summoned his Death Eaters using the magically tattooed marks they all bore on their left forearms. Dumbledore had not allowed Severus to attend the summons and leave straight away, nor to respond to the call, despite their plan for him to resume his spying. 

Instead, Albus had kept Severus loitering at Hogwarts - questioning Crouch Junior, wasting time with Fudge, Black, Potter ... messing around in the infirmary like a miniature war general commanding his motley troops. Finally ... finally, once he had revealed the large dog that had been sitting on Potter’s hospital bed to be the Animagus form of Sirius Black and sent the sleazy bastard away on his own mission, Dumbledore had turned regretfully to Severus. 

You know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready ... if you are prepared. 

Severus had turned away with a curt nod and swept down the central aisle of the infirmary, not looking at any of the others that had been gathered there. 

Of course he was fucking prepared. He’d been preparing himself since the Dark Mark began to gain colour on his arm at the very beginning of the school term, watching it reform and grow bolder over the months of the Tri-Wizard tournament, watching his panic mirrored in the frightened face of Igor Karkaroff, who also bore the Mark. 

Yes, he was prepared to walk back into the centre of the Dark Lord’s inner circle, inexorably late and with no excuse to offer other than to throw himself at the psychotic bastard’s mercy and hope that Voldemort would accept his repentance and allow him to rejoin the Death Eaters. Albus knew exactly what he was sending him back to, and Severus, like a bloody fool, had agreed to do it, to do it all. 

In the days that followed, after he had been tortured to within an inch of his life to prove his loyalty, and what remained of his unconscious body returned to the gates of Hogwarts broken and barely alive as a warning to Dumbledore, Severus had fought for his survival right there in the school infirmary. Madam Pomfrey, Albus and Minerva had used all manner of magic and healing to save him, to repair his gargantuan wounds and salvage his shattered bones and ruptured organs the best they could.

The three of them had succeeded, up to a point. They repaired his body satisfactorily, eventually. His mind and soul, however, would be forever damaged, but that couldn’t be seen, he could hide that away, hold the stress and pressure inside. Severus had continued to teach. He had survived Dolores Umbridge, odious little toad she was, and had alerted the Order to attend the Department of Mysteries to resolve the battle that occurred following Potter’s failure to occlude the Dark Lord. 

He had agreed to all that Albus had asked, and would continue to do so. He was to support Draco Malfoy’s assassination attempts. He was to hand over the teaching of Potions to Horace Slughorn and take his much-wanted position as Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Only he would know that what he was teaching the students would not be theoretical. These would be skills they would need far sooner than any of them would expect. He was the only professor in the castle who could prepare these children for what they were about to face in the imminent future. 

And now this. Just when he thought his head might pop from the pressure of his myriad of tasks, Albus heaped another log on the fire. 

“Granger, Albus. Granger?”

“It is the only way, Severus.”

“In addition to everything else you have asked of me, you want me to private tutor the most annoying child ever to set foot in this school?”

Albus had actually had the gall to smile at him. 

“She is no longer a child, Severus. Miss Granger is the first of her cohort to come of age, just a few weeks into the new term, and has expressed her intention to join the Order at that point. She has an exceptionally keen mind, and a thirst to learn. It will be her that will see Harry Potter through the tasks I have set for him, as he will not manage alone. She must be prepared.”

It always came back to a bloody Potter, his mind seethed, as the old, bearded wizard continued. 

“Hermione Granger will succeed at Occlumency where Harry failed. And she will need it. She will certainly need it ...” 

Severus narrowed his eyes at his mentor and supposed friend as his speech tailed off. 

“How do you know what she will need? How do you know she will need to able to Occlude?” he asked, suspiciously. 

“You can teach her skills that no one else in this school can. You can ... build a trust with her. This will be important. For both of you.”

The irritating poof was now speaking in riddles, and it annoyed the absolute hell out of him. 

“There is no way you can be so certain, Albus,” he grumbled. “Unless you ...”

“Unless I what, Severus?”

“Unless you have already seen the future.”

Dumbledore regarded Snape with his bright blue eyes, for a split-second losing their twinkle and becoming hard and accusing. 

“All the Time Turners were destroyed in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. You know this.”

He stared at Snape from across the desk, as if daring him to contradict the statement. 

“Every single one?”

He saw Dumbledore’s hand stray absently to a tiny, undoubtedly locked, drawer in the large mahogany desk. Bingo. He would wager everything he owned that just one Time Turner was in there, and that bloody Albus had used it.  
“Terrible things happen to wizards that meddle with time, Severus.”

“And you are not meddling, Albus?”

“I am not. I am making plans for the most favourable outcome, whilst not disrupting the timeline.”

It was tantamount to a signed and sealed confession. Severus sighed, heavily. He was too fucking tired to argue any longer. He would do it. He would do all of it. Who cared? He would be dead before the year was out, anyway. 

“What do you require of me?”

“Befriend Miss Granger. Build a trust with her, a rapport, if you can. And if that is too difficult, then at least equip her with skills above and beyond the level of what she will learn in her scheduled classes. Occlumency, for one. Advanced defensive magic, for another. You will find her mind as razor-sharp as your own, I assure you.”

Severus sank down in the armchair in resignation, his recently injured leg beginning to ache from his constant pacing. 

“I suppose I should be grateful that you have not asked me to resume my private tuition of Potter.”

Dumbledore smiled, indulgently.

“Ah yes, the ill-fated lessons between yourself and Harry Potter were, as I should have predicted, an unmitigated disaster. No, I shall be instructing Potter myself this year. I have much to teach him.”

“I can see that my own Occlumency skills will be called into even greater use than I have put them to this year past, since I have now a private student to hide, and knowledge of your tuition of Potter. Perhaps I should Obliviate myself nightly.”

“There is no need of that, as if you would do such a thing. I would trust no one else. You are a Master Occlumens. I have the greatest of faith in you.”

“It is a miracle I haven’t killed you yet, old man,” he replied, ruefully. 

“All good things come to those who wait, Severus,” Dumbledore replied, making a most distasteful joke and in remarkably cheerful humour for a man who had just signed his own death warrant.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating; indestructible.” 
> 
> Was he ... was he, warning them?

Chapter 2

Hermione walked through the empty corridors of Hogwarts, a ball of apprehension firmly lodged in the pit of her stomach. She had been called to Dumbledore’s office by way of a rolled parchment delivered to her at the dinner table by a Gryffindor second-year earlier that evening, which was unusual because she presumed it was Harry alone who was going to be taking secret lessons with the Headmaster. 

As first days went, it had not been too bad, considering the bad start they had got off to the night before when Harry arrived in the Great Hall after the Welcome Feast had already started, covered in his own blood and escorted by a malevolent-looking Professor Snape.

His, and by association, their anxiety had been increased when it was revealed during the Headmaster’s start-of-term speech that the corpulent wizard that Harry had met during the summer holidays with Dumbledore; one Horace Slughorn, was to return from retirement to his post teaching Potions, leaving the instruction of Defence Against the Dark Arts finally in the hands of Severus Snape. 

Harry had been completely taken aback. He had not thought to ask Dumbledore what Slughorn would be teaching, but had merely presumed it to be DADA, with that subject being the only vacant post. Hermione had a strange recollection of seeing Snape healing his own injuries and concealing them from view at Grimmauld Place, and so resolved to at least give him a chance; for Dumbledore surely must have had a good reason in making such an appointment. Ron and Harry had certainly not been so charitable in their reactions. 

Due to her excellent OWL results, Hermione’s sixth-year timetable now consisted of Charms, DADA, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Potions. If she were to succeed with every course, that would make her one of the very few holders of seven NEWTs in Hogwarts history. The challenge was too enticing to resist, despite the fact it was condemning her to two years of the hardest schoolwork she had ever undertaken. However, Hermione Granger was nothing if not academically determined. Ron and Harry were rather irritating, crowing loudly about what appeared to be endless amounts of free periods, until they were set upon by Professor McGonagall, who promptly signed them both up for Advanced Potions with Slughorn, to the disgust of them both. But if they were serious about entering the Auror training programme, they would need the subject. 

Their first DADA lesson had been like nothing they had experienced before in their five years at Hogwarts. The faltering hesitation of Quirrell, the sheer ridiculousness of Lockhart, the entertaining lessons they’d had from Lupin, the wild-eyed insanity of Barty Crouch Junior, polyjuiced as Moody, and most of all, the childish curriculum that Umbridge had attempted to deliver – all of these – paled into insignificance after experiencing Defence Against the Dark Arts taught by Professor Snape. The darkly mysterious wizard had their full attention from the second they had walked into the classroom, in the most terrifying of ways.

Set free from the dungeon cauldrons at last, he had adorned the walls of the DADA classroom with gruesome pictures of witches and wizards experiencing extreme pain from dark curses, dimmed the lights and dropped the thick shades over the windows. He had created an atmosphere in which it was impossible not to focus every part of your mind on the words of warning and instruction that spilled softly from his mouth, never raising his voice above a low, hypnotic tone.

His ‘welcome’ speech had been as memorable as the one he had given them on their very first Potions lesson. Clearly he knew the value of making an immediate impact. He spoke as if he had never seen or met any of them before. 

“The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating; indestructible.” 

Was he ... was he, warning them? 

The speech had seemed way beyond what a teacher would say when introducing his subject for the first time. It was as if he intended for his every word to penetrate deep into the psyche of each student. There had been silence in the classroom for a good while afterwards, before he had begun to introduce non-verbal spells. They had attempted to practise silent jinxes and shield charms with varying degrees of success and failure, and had ended with Harry earning himself his first detention of the year by the end of the lesson, for the simple reason of not being able to keep his mouth shut and his temper under control. 

After lunch, her day had quickly gone downhill following their first Potions lesson with Slughorn. She had of course shown her knowledge early on, identifying the potions that the new professor was brewing on his own workbench, and earned herself a good crop of housepoints for the Gryffindor hourglass. She had after that, however, been outperformed by Harry, of all people, in a brewing competition to make a Draught of Living Death, a concoction that none of them had ever made before. 

Using some dubious scribbled instructions in an old textbook that he’d found in a dusty cupboard in the Potions classroom, Harry had produced a perfect brew and won himself a tiny vial of Felix Felicis – liquid luck. Hermione considered this entirely unfair, and was quite on edge with her friend in the common room after dinner. Harry and Ron had only laughed, which had made her even crosser, and she was in rather ill humour when she left the common room for her assigned meeting with the headmaster. 

She gave the password to the gargoyle at the foot of the spiral staircase that led to Dumbledore’s office, and soon found herself rising up towards the door, upon which she nervously knocked. 

Hearing his cheery, “Come in, Miss Granger!” she forced herself to relax a little as she entered the huge office, adorned with dozens of old portraits of Hogwarts Headmasters and mistresses long since past. The white-bearded Dumbledore indicated for her to sit in the large chair that was placed across the desk from himself, and offered her a sherbet lemon from the metal bowl he always kept on the surface, near enough for his visitors to help themselves. 

Hermione politely declined, declaring herself still full from dinner, and set her hands together in her lap in expectation that he would begin by revealing the reason he had called her to his office. She never was much one for small talk, preferring to get to the point of a conversation as speedily as possible. Picking at a loose piece of thumbnail and biting the inside of her cheek, she waited. 

Dumbledore had commended her for maintaining her friendships with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, stating that he found the three of them to be a very good influence on one another. The amusement must have shown in her eyes, as he had smiled and quickly corrected himself that she was a good influence on the two boys. 

Harry, he advised, had not been able to master Occlumency, leaving his mind vulnerable to Voldemort, and this had resulted in that dreadful night at the Department of Mysteries. Despite him wishing that Harry would continue to take instruction, the headmaster conceded that having Harry and Professor Snape in private lessons was too volatile, and that further teaching would not be successful. 

Hermione mused that it was far more likely that Snape had refused to teach Harry further.

“Therefore, Miss Granger, I should like you to take Occlumency lessons instead.”

She looked at him in surprise. Her?

“Severus, that is, Professor Snape, has agreed to teach you. You will learn to protect your own mind, and then pass these skills to Mr Potter in, we feel, a far more effective way than he was able to do.”

“How important is it for Harry to learn Occlumency, Sir?”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and regarded her over the top of his spectacles.

“There is a wind of change around us, Miss Granger, an ill wind that reeks of foreboding. We must all find a suitable place to protect ourselves from the evil that will soon be upon us. All of us must secure our own safety, taking every opportunity that avails itself to us.”

“Sir, I don’t completely understand.”

“You do not need, at this stage, to completely understand. Suffice to say that you have been presented with an opportunity here, Hermione.”

He surprised her with the use of her first name. 

“There is a great deal you could learn from a wizard such as Severus. You just need to be open-minded enough to receive the information that could save your life, or that of others. Whether you choose to impart the teaching to Mr Potter and Mr Weasley, is of course entirely your decision.”

So the Occlumency was merely a cover. She stared at him. He wanted her to take private tuition from Professor Snape. There were things she needed to learn, things that Dumbledore felt were crucial, but could not tell her.  
“That is essentially correct, Miss Granger.”

His eyes were twinkling at her mischievously. She had not uttered a word. He tapped the side of his temple, just near his eye, and made a small gesture of salute. He had clearly just Legilimised into her head and read her thoughts. 

“It seems that learning Occlumency would indeed be of benefit to me, Professor,” she replied, smiling.

“It would indeed. All that information you have in your head, to which I have no doubt you will add to this year, should be protected. All I ask is that you treat Severus with respect, which of course I know you will. You will find that he is ... not all that he first seems.”

Hermione nodded slowly in understanding. Indeed, she suspected that her black-clad professor was not all he seemed. Their first Defence lesson had convinced her of that. 

She would look forward to, and dread, their first private tutorial in equal measure.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First lesson tonight 9pm.
> 
> No salutation. No sign off. No indication of what they would be learning. An economy of words.

Chapter 3

Hermione knocked on the door of the Defence classroom, and walked in at the barked, “Enter!”

She pushed open the heavy wooden door, turning to close it softly, without slamming, and was surprised to see the iron bolt slide across with a rusty creak, locking the classroom door behind her. 

Looking up, Snape was replacing his black wand on the desk beside him. Clearly, it had been him that had cast the locking spell. The thought that she was now locked in a classroom with her scariest professor made her nervous, but she called on her Gryffindor courage and began to walk down the central aisle of the room, between the rows of desks, towards where his teacher’s desk was situated, raised slightly higher than the students’ desks upon a dais platform. 

The room was no less gloomy than when he taught during the day, although she noted there were a few extra sconces lit around the dais area, affording him enough light to complete his marking during the darker evening hours. 

They had been back at school for nearly two weeks now, and this was to be her first private session with him. She had been summoned by a curt note delivered back to her, rolled up in her essay that he had returned to her in class that afternoon. 

First lesson tonight 9pm.

No salutation. No sign off. No indication of what they would be learning. An economy of words. 

Professor Snape was sat behind his desk, slashing away at what must be some poor student’s essay with his vicious red quill, and he beckoned her to approach, finally looking up when she reached his desk. He replaced the quill in the inkwell, and set the roll of parchment to one side, clasping his hands together in front of him. 

“So, Miss Granger. I take it you understand why you are here?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Your friend, Potter,” he spat the name as if it caused a nasty taste in his mouth, “proved himself completely inept at the art of Occlumency. I am hoping you will prove a better student. You are certainly a better choice than Ronald Weasley. I doubt the ginger buffoon would be able to guard his mind against a Chomping Cabbage, let alone the Dark Lord.”

Her mouth twisted in amusement, although she tried to hide it. 

“Do you find this funny, Miss Granger? If you cannot take these sessions seriously, I will refuse to teach you, also.”

Hermione sobered. She would not allow herself to fail at anything. Professor Snape nodded and indicated for her to sit in one of two low wooden chairs that he had placed facing each other on the raised dais next to his desk. He stood, pushing his shoulders back in what appeared to be a concealed stretch of his back muscles, which must be aching from his hunched position leaning over his screeds of marking, before sitting firmly in the opposite chair and pointing his wand at her.

“I shall attempt to access your thoughts, your feelings, your memories. You will attempt to prevent me, using only the power of your mind. You will not cast any spells or use your wand, nor will you attempt to ... remove me physically, is that clear?”

He raised his wand to her forehead, and she put her hand up to block it, remembering what Harry had told her about his disastrous Occlumency sessions with Snape.

“But Sir, you haven’t explained what I should do. How can I prevent you entering my mind if you don’t tell me how? I’m not even entirely sure exactly what Occlumency is.”

Snape looked down his long, hooked nose at her, as if she had said something incredibly stupid. She lifted her chin in defiance, standing by her question – it was, after all, a very reasonable one, and they both knew it. They eyed each other for a full minute, possibly more, she couldn’t tell, but it felt as if Snape was appraising her, trying to ascertain her motives, test her mettle. 

“I don’t trust words, Miss Granger. I trust actions,” he said, quietly and at great length, narrowing his black eyes. 

“That is all well and good, Professor, but I cannot perform an action that I have not yet been instructed in.”

He appeared to roll his eyes in capitulation, relaxing his posture in the wooden chair, and leaning forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs, again clasping his hands together. His posture was as though he was about to reveal a secret. She had never seen him in such a casual pose. 

“Occlumency is the art of shielding your mind against Legilimency. The Dark Lord is a Master Legilimens, and his Occlumency is second only to one.”

“Whose?” she whispered, already suspecting the answer.

“Mine.”

Her eyes widened. Professor Snape, the best Occlumens in the wizarding world? He gave a single nod to confirm her unspoken question. Dumbledore had been right; her professor was certainly not all that he seemed to be. She nodded in return, keen for him to continue. Already, her fear was dissipating and her interest piqued. 

“You are Muggle born, are you not? Occlumency is not dissimilar to the Muggle art of meditation, the ability to clear one’s mind of extraneous detail, to focus on absolutely nothing apart from the sound and feel of one’s own breath.”

His voice was respectful and quiet, nothing like his sneered instructions and withering put-downs in class. 

“To Occlude successfully, you must be able to not only clear your mind, but in addition, present a false memory to distract the intruder from your use of Occulmency. The skill is no good if it can be detected. This is something we shall work on once you have proved capable of ... the basics. It is imperative that the Dark Lord does not detect that Potter is attempting to employ Occlumency against him.”

“But ... but, if Voldemort is the greatest Legilimens, how can Harry be expected to do that? Who can Occlude against his power?”

“I can,” Snape replied, arrogantly, “I will teach you.”

He raised his wand. 

Legilimens.

\- xxx –

Back in Gryffindor Tower later that night, Hermione’s mind was spinning with everything she had learned. A private tutorial with a master of his craft had been an exhilarating, if not slightly terrifying, experience. Her fingers had itched to grab quill and parchment to take notes, but when she had tried it, Snape had given her such a look of derision she had dropped the items back into her school bag. 

The initial feeling of having someone inside her own mind was discombobulating. It had not been a gentle, polite pressure, as she had felt when Dumbledore briefly touched against her mind, but instead it felt much like an intrusion, a presence that should not be there, and one that she wanted to eject, but had no idea how. 

Hermione had needed and wanted to get him out. Her fingers had fluttered to her wand, but he’d plucked it from her fingers. 

She’d felt him rifle through the day’s memories, and it felt as personal as if he was going through her underwear drawer. Not only could he see everything that had happened that day, but he could also clearly hear her feelings towards each occurrence.  
She had felt his amused disdain for her musings over the growing friendship between Ron and Lavender Brown, and whether it bothered her or not. His rolled eyes at how pathetic she was were almost audible. 

How completely humiliating. How could she oust him? She was getting desperate. Her hands had risen from her lap and begun to push against him, but he’d taken hold of them both and returned them to her legs, securing them there with the hand in which he was not holding his wand, keeping the Legilimency connection open. 

Great, now he was holding her fucking hand. 

“Language, Miss Granger,” he drawled.

Of course, he could hear everything. Fuck. 

He chuckled, a strange sound she had never heard from his lips. He had heard that, too. 

He’d seemed to push further, deeper. It was as if he were trying to find the most embarrassing or secret memories, in order to push her harder, to force her to eject him. Her memory of the previous weekend’s Gryffindor Quidditch trials had swum to the forefront of her mind. Oh no. She could not allow him to see that. He would see her cast a secret Confundus charm upon Cormac McLaggen and Ron would be ousted from the team. 

Come on, Hermione! 

She had concentrated on bringing up a large wooden door to close down the memory, not unlike an enormous castle drawbridge, slowly being wound up on an iron chain to secure the entrance of a fairytale castle. Feeling him try to bring the door back down, she focused everything she could upon closing the drawbridge. They were tussling over it, inside her mind. Nothing had mattered apart from raising the drawbridge, pulling up that huge wooden door to guard what she was hiding within the castle. He would not win. 

Finally, finally, the drawbridge had closed with a heavy thud, and her mind was her own again. She had managed to throw him from her mind. 

Smiling in exhausted satisfaction, she looked up at him. His eyes were flashing a dark warning, his pupils dilated and a light sheen of sweat across his forehead. Snatching his hand from hers, where he had been keeping her from physically attacking him, he stood up from the chair.

“Not a bad first attempt, Miss Granger,” he began, walking towards his desk and settling himself behind it. 

“You allowed me to see far too much, of course, but I had expected nothing less the first time. However, unlike Potter, you eventually managed to eject me without resorting to the use of your wand ... or your fists.”

Her palms were suddenly unfathomably sweaty. 

“The use of the drawbridge visualisation was ... effective. Although crude, it demonstrated that you are able to use your mind alone against a Legilimency attack. In time, we can refine your technique, if you are willing to work hard and learn?”

“I am willing,” she’d replied, surprising herself with her certainty. 

“Then that is enough for tonight. The hour is late and I suggest you return to your common room since you have only five minutes left before the prefects’ curfew. Good evening, Miss Granger.”

Five minutes until curfew? He had been in her mind for two hours? How was that even possible? She had so much to learn. 

“Good night, Professor Snape. Thank you for the lesson.”

If he seemed surprised at her thanks, he did not show it, but gave a single nod of acknowledgement. As she walked back down the centre of the classroom, passing under the bones and skeletons hanging from the ceiling rafters, she saw and heard the heavy bolt slide open to allow her to exit, he must have cast the unlocking spell from his desk. 

Hermione lay on her bed, her mind active and exhilarated. Despite her initial reservations, she was actually looking forward to the next lesson.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A physical strand of memories can only be extracted by yourself, by your own wand, unless you are mortally wounded, in which case your memories will flow from you unbidden before your death. Remember that.”

Chapter 4

As soon as the door to the Defence classroom had closed behind her, Severus slammed his hand on the surface of his desk, standing immediately and stalking towards the stone steps at the back of the teaching platform that led to his office and private chambers. 

Taking the dozen stairs two at a time, his black hair slapping messily on his shoulders, he flung open the door to his office and flung it shut behind him. He stood there, breathing heavily. What the fuck had all that been about? 

He angrily pulled off his teaching robes and long frock coat, tossing them to the sofa rather than hanging them neatly as he usually did, before heading straight through the other door which led to his private living quarters, undoing the shirt buttons at his throat and wrists as he walked to allow his blood to flow a little easier. 

Severus threw himself on his large bed, ignoring the fact that he was still wearing his boots, and lay back on the freshly made linens, looking up at the heavy green canopy above, as if it miraculously held all the answers of the universe. 

He had been rooting around in Granger’s mind for best part of almost two hours, not that she would have noticed. Whilst not as innately powerful as the Dark Lord, he was a master of Legilimency in his own right, and was easily able to distract her with supposed attention to her more innocuous memories while he delved for the ones he was actually interested in. 

He hadn’t meant to. 

At the first entry into her mind, almost immediately, he had realised that there was so much more to this young witch than he had initially expected. A brilliant academic mind of course, he had suspected no less, but what had been more surprising was the clarity of her memories, the detail in which even the most innocent thought had been remembered and stored. 

He had taken a journey around the usual teenage tears and tribulations, which he had found surprisingly short and intermittent. More prevalent was the amount of analysis and good sense that she applied to everything, and the amount of time that she did not spend on hormonal drama. 

Far from being frustrated with the two idiots she spent most of her time with, she seemed to always be thinking of ways to better them, to support them, to encourage them. He doubted that Potter and Weasley had a single clue of the efforts the third member of their trio made on their behalf. Albus had been correct; Granger was certainly the brains and driving force of this friendship. 

So rich was her attention to detail, Severus had found himself desperate to know more. He wanted to see himself through her eyes. Without thinking about the good sense of what he was doing, he had distracted her by poking around in memories that she would find embarrassing, in order to rifle through her thoughts of him. He had, in Merlin’s name, no idea what had possessed him to do such a juvenile thing. 

He had felt her admiration as he saw himself lecturing the class in a smooth manner, wisdom dripping from his lips that she soaked up like a sponge. Admiration. Not boredom, or disgust. He had felt her shock and gratitude as he jumped between the children and the werewolf. He had felt her shame as he had mocked her hexed front teeth. And on. And on. 

Finally, he had come to the most recent memory, when she had seen him arrive at Grimmauld Place, bleeding and broken from an audience before the Dark Lord where the insane snake had expressed his displeasure with a number of his loyal followers.  
The memory was incredibly detailed, right down to the spider that had crawled across her foot as she had attempted to keep silent and hidden as she watch him cover his injuries. Most prevalent of all was the genuine sorrow she had felt. Sorrow? The idea confused him. 

Apart from his facial injuries, he had also suffered a broken kneecap that night, which was still causing him problems almost a month later. He was getting too fucking old for this shit. 

He had been impressed that she’d finally thrown him out using only the power of her mind. It was a crude visualisation, using imagery of a castle drawbridge, but she had done it. He did not often feel pride at the achievement of a student, but today he did. That must be the strange feeling that was coursing through him, making it somewhat difficult for him to catch a deep breath. 

That was certainly it. 

He would resolutely not think about holding her hands. 

\- xxx –

The following week, Hermione found herself excited when she received another note from Professor Snape, again simply giving the time of her next lesson, 9pm on the Friday evening. It would mean that she had to turn down a dinner invitation from Professor Slughorn, but she had already attended one meeting of the so-called ‘Slug Club’, she hoped he wouldn’t mind her absconding on this occasion, especially as it was for schoolwork. 

Hermione didn’t like the new professor very much, but then she did not dislike him either. She couldn’t say that a private dinner with a select group of students being served at the table was not preferable to the usual rabble in the Great Hall, either.  
The attentions of Cormac McLaggen, another member of the exclusive little club, were becoming a bit of a pain, though. Handsome he might be, tall and athletic, but in personality the young wizard was an arrogant idiot. He’d made it clear, more than once, that if Hermione agreed to go out with him, he’d ensure she was satisfied. Urgh. 

She’d not spent time with any boy since that summer with Viktor Krum ... and by Merlin she didn’t want to relive that time. If she were going to accept the advances of any wizard it would certainly not be a Quidditch oaf like McLaggen. Confused by her new feelings for Ron, Hermione was unsure if this wasn’t because of the new attention he was receiving from the dizzy Lavender. Jealousy was not an attractive emotion, she berated herself, trying to concentrate on what an unsuitable boyfriend Ronald Weasley would make, alternated with wondering what it would be like to kiss him. 

During the week, in the privacy of the prefects’ bathroom, she had spent time practising meditation, clearing all the thoughts from her head and replacing them with a perfectly clear mist, the steam from the scented bath water providing the inspiration. This practise had the dual benefit of quieting her busy mind from the stress of her academic timetable, as well as being excellent training for Occlumency. Rather pathetically, Hermione hoped that Professor Snape would be impressed.  
As she entered the Defence classroom exactly on time at 9pm, Hermione was surprised to see the stone bowl of a Pensieve, its surface shimmering, on the corner of his desk.

“Tonight, we shall be trying harder, Miss Granger,” he told her, by way of greeting. “If you have any deeply private thoughts or particular memories that you do not wish me to view, I suggest that you deposit them here.”

He demonstrated how to extract a memory, using his wand to thread a strand of thick mist from his own temple and place it on the surface of the Pensieve; the odd, silvery-blue substance neither a liquid nor gas. She watched, most interested in the demonstration. 

“A physical strand of memories can only be extracted by yourself, by your own wand, unless you are mortally wounded, in which case your memories will flow from you unbidden before your death. Remember that.”

Hermione nodded, although not really sure why he was telling her, and attempted to extract a memory from her own head, although only succeeded in pulling out a rather bland memory about a childhood birthday party. Nonetheless, she dropped it into the Pensieve, keen as always to learn a new magical skill. 

They sat as before in the low wooden chairs that were arranged facing each other. She heard him cast the incantation and enter her mind, just as hard as the previous session, only this time she was ready for him.

She allowed him to see a short memory regarding an incident in Herbology that morning where they had been side-swiped by a Venomous Tentacula, and then focused on the hot steam of the prefects’ bath, bringing down a white mist over the entire memory.  
Feeling him root around, searching for a way around the mist, Hermione smiled smugly to herself as she felt his confusion. She continued to hold the mist, using meditation to calm herself, slow her breathing and hold the Occlumency shield. 

After a while, he broke the connection and pulled out of her mind and stared at her. She was delighted. She had been keen to demonstrate the result of her intensive practice. These lessons might be matter of life and death for Harry, for all of them. 

“You have achieved commendable improvement.”

“Was that a compliment?” she shot back, not able to stop the rather cheeky retort slipping from her mouth. 

He arched a thick, black eyebrow at her, looking most displeased. 

“Well ... I mean ... you’ve never praised my work before. Sir,” she added, hurriedly. 

“I am not a teacher that is given to gushing sentiment, as you well know. However, never stop doing your best just because someone does not give you the credit you so richly deserve.”

Hermione almost fell off her chair, surprised at his rare and unexpected admittance that he did not reward her work as he should. 

“Now,” he said, continuing quietly, as if the last exchange had not taken place. “You have demonstrated your ability to block intrusion in a satisfactory manner. Your technique of the mist is effective, and will protect you against low-level intrusion, such as the headmaster attempting to find out if it was you who ate all his beloved sherbet lemons.”

He did not smile, but there was a slight glitter of amusement in his coal-black eyes. 

“However, against a sustained attack from a dark source, the second half of the skill is to present a false memory in place of the Occluded one to fool the attacker. Let us continue.”

\- xxx –

Hermione was in the Great Hall the following lunchtime with Harry and Ron, the latter of whom was shovelling chicken pie into his mouth as if there was going to be a national shortage of poultry and pastry, and attempting to discuss the disastrous attempt at Occlumency they’d just had, secreted in an unused classroom during a quiet Saturday with nothing else to do. 

Harry had indeed found mastering the skill impossible, even after she had patiently explained the similarity to Muggle meditation. 

“Honestly, Harry,” she snapped, “I don’t think you actually want to learn Occlumency at all, it’s like you want to let Voldemort into your mind, as if it makes you feel special.”

“You think I like this?” he’d shot back. “You think I enjoyed watching Ron’s dad get attacked? You don’t think I blame myself that Sirius was killed? Come off it, Hermione!”

“Well, you need to try harder then!” she’d shouted, her face reddening at his harsh words.

“Did it ever cross your mind that some people just aren’t capable of Occluding, and that I might be one of them?”

“You can do anything if you study hard enough.”

Harry shot her a look, and took a purposeful mouthful of pie, chewing hard to signal the end of her lecture, knowing she would make him try again tomorrow. 

\- xxx –

A few days later, rather than the full week that had passed between her first two lessons, Hermione was perched on the edge of the wooden chair that he always sat her in for Occlumency practice, with Snape opposite her on an identical one, playing out a short, but perfectly false memory as he sat at her eye-level with his wand raised and with a Legilimency connection open in her mind. He withdrew, and nodded his approval. 

“Since I was present at dinner in the Great Hall, I know perfectly well that you sat with Potter and Weasley, and were not, as you have just shown me, invited to the Ravenclaw table to discuss Ancient Runes, I must concede that you have worked extremely hard on the technique I taught you last lesson, Miss Granger. However, this is only the beginning. Occluding innocuous memories is nothing compared to the need to Occlude a memory that is the difference between your life and your death.”

“Thank you, Sir, and I understand that,” she replied, not missing the tiny measure of desperation that he had imbued into his final sentence.

“It is not a question of thanks. Dumbledore considered it essential that Potter learned Occlumency.”

“Do you consider it essential?”

He regarded her warily, his black eyes narrowed and suspicious, with an unusual tiredness visible in them, that she had not seen before. 

“Do you wish me to be honest with you, Granger?”

“Yes please.”

“What are we fighting for? In your opinion?”

“We are fighting to destroy Voldemort, and all that he stands for.”

“And do you believe that Potter is indeed the Chosen One, and therefore the one who must bring about the Dark Lord’s demise?”

She inhaled sharply at the probing curiosity of his question, before nodding in the affirmative. 

“Then I will tell you that I consider Potter will find it useful, but not essential. When they eventually face each other, as indeed they must, the ability to Occlude will neither help nor hinder him.”

As she wandered back through the corridors to Gryffindor Tower, she thought about his cryptic and incomplete answer to her question. 

She also had the strongest feeling that Severus Snape knew more than any of them realised.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes. The Dark Arts are seductive. They are wonderfully coercive, enticing, and can elicit some of the most sensual feelings known to wizardkind. How on earth do you imagine that people would become enmeshed in them otherwise? Dark Magic is a seducer, Miss Granger. It will rape your soul and make you believe you desire it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we start to earn our M rating. You have been warned. #sorrynotsorry   
> Pouf x

Chapter 5

Severus was seated at the desk in his private office, attempting to deconstruct the dark curses that were held within the silver and opal necklace that had cursed the Gryffindor Quidditch player, Miss Bell, and sent her off to St Mungo’s hospital, barely alive. The necklace was nestled on a black velvet cushion, which had been ill-wrapped in brown paper. It had been because of the flimsy wrapping that the curse had been able to reach the girl’s skin through a tiny hole in her glove.

Whatever the curses were, he would find and remove them, and in the meantime, he had sent for that little shit, Draco Malfoy, as this first crude attempt at fulfilling his task was undoubtedly his work, if one could call it that. The cursed necklace had not even reached Hogwarts, let alone the headmaster. 

So far, two messages to the Slytherin common room requesting that Malfoy attend his office immediately had gone unanswered; and Severus had already extracted ten housepoints for each of the summons that Draco had ignored. 

He was hot, stressed, and becoming increasingly affected by the dark magic contained within the necklace, and he loosened his collar. As he continued his painstaking work, he heard the main classroom door downstairs open and close quickly, and the creaky bolt drawn across into the lock to secure the room. 

Miss Granger. Of course. They had an appointment for a tutorial that evening, and it had already been implied that she should enter his DADA classroom at the allotted times and bolt the door behind her. He did not want to risk any of his Slytherins discovering that he was gifting a Gryffindor with private tuition, especially as so very many of them had families who were either Death Eaters, or had pro-dark leanings. 

Severus rose from his desk and moved towards the open door of his private quarters, stepping out on to the pulpit-like balcony that looked out over the Defence classroom from a great height. She looked up at him. 

“Good evening, Sir.”

“Good evening, Miss Granger. I find myself not in the best of health today. It is probably best that we postpone our lesson tonight.”

Her face actually fell. She was disappointed to not spend the next two hours in his odious presence?

Granger looked up at him with concern, noting his uncharacteristically flushed cheeks and slightly ruffled appearance. 

“Are you quite alright, Sir?”

“It is of no consequence. I have simply been dealing with the necklace that caused Miss Bell’s accident, and it is somewhat laborious work.”

“Can I assist you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Can I be of any assistance? Or ... is there anything I can learn from your work?” 

The girl’s eyes gleamed in anticipation of further instruction, as they always did. She really was a joy to teach, not that he would ever tell her that. He could feel his resistance crumbling. Really, was it appropriate to expose a student to a darkly-cursed object? Of course not. But Miss Granger was a very particular case, plus she was of age now, and legally able to make her own decisions – and mistakes. The headmaster himself had instructed Severus to teach her as much as he could. This was surely just an opportunity for further learning. 

“Very well. I shall bring the item down. Stand away from my desk please.”

Hermione watched as he descended the stairs, levitating the elaborate necklace in front of him, complete with the black cloth underneath it. He transferred it to the cleared surface of his desk, immaculately tidy as always, and set it to lay on the surface, to all intents and purposes merely an innocent and beautiful piece of jewellery. 

He sat down in his usual desk chair. 

“You may move nearer to observe. I am sure I do not need to warn you of the danger involved if you were to touch this necklace, since you personally witnessed Miss Bell’s reaction to doing so.”

“I have no intention of touching the necklace, Sir.”

“Then by all means, come closer.”

Granger stepped lightly towards him, but rather than standing in front of the desk as he expected, she moved around it and stood next to him, her eagerness palpable. 

“This item was imbued with what I have discovered to be a double curse, woven together in a complicated pattern that makes it very difficult to remove. I believe that I am not far from separating all the strands, which can then be removed, one after the other, and the necklace will become a harmless piece of jewellery once more.”

She regarded the inanimate necklace, with a quizzical expression on her young face. 

“How did you know, Sir? When Harry, Ron, Leanne and I saw you with Professor McGonagall earlier today, you only appeared to cast your wand over it and told her that it was full of dark magic. How could you tell?”

Severus looked up at her where she stood, as she was a little taller than him whilst he remained seated. She was rambunctious in her curiosity and thirst for knowledge, just as Albus had told him. She reminded him of himself, at this age, arrogantly assuming the right to know everything. 

“I can feel the dark intent of the curses,” he replied, simply. 

“Because of your ...?” her question trailed off and her eyes flicked involuntarily to his left arm where she knew he bore the Dark Mark. 

“It has nothing to do with the Mark,” he retorted. “I am a master of both dark magic, and the defence against it, otherwise I would not be teaching this subject. I can feel it.”

“Would I be able to feel it?”

She was brave, he’d give her that, and she had a thirst for knowledge, just as Albus had said. 

“Hold up your hands, like this.”

He mimed holding hands with palms outstretched and fingers pointing upwards, as if warming one’s hands before a fire. The girl copied him, and his large hands with their long, pale fingers, dwarfed her small, delicate ones. 

“Bring your hands gradually closer to the necklace until you become aware of an unsettling feeling begin to creep up on you. Do not touch it, however much you might wish to, under any circumstances. Feel the magic, do not look for it visually, for you will see nothing. You will feel everything.”

Hermione complied with his every instruction, moving her hands slowly towards the necklace, uncertain of what she was meant to be feeling. She stepped a little closer to the desk, steadying herself with her feet apart so that there was no danger of overbalancing and falling right on to the necklace. She was happy to be given the chance to investigate this dark, forbidden object. 

Suddenly and without warning, she felt the lightest sensation against her hands, as if a butterfly were fluttering its wings against her palms. She was accosted by the strangest feeling, like she wanted to throw up and run away both at the same time. It was certainly most unsettling, just as Snape had warned. She was drawn to move her hands closer, to intensify the feelings, for as much as they were making her sick and scared, they were also compelling and for some reason she wanted more. 

Severus remained seated in his chair, as still as a stone Hogwarts gargoyle. One unexpected move from him could unbalance her, and send her tumbling on to the cursed necklace. As she leaned further forwards, her breasts brushed the top of his forearm that was lying atop the desk, and she did not appear to notice, for she displayed no reaction. 

Unfortunately, his sodding prick noted the contact, and he felt an intense shot of blood to the groin as the entirely unexpected touching occurred. He could not move, and now he did not wish to. However, her hands were now entirely too close to the necklace.

“Miss Granger, you need to move your hands away now, please,” he instructed. 

“Do I have to? It just feels so ...”

“Right now.”

Reluctantly, and with some difficulty, she pulled her hands away from the strange draw of the necklace.

“Sit down.”

“I don’t think I can.”

He rose from his desk chair, taking hold of her elbow and steering her firmly towards the chairs that they always used for Occlumency practice, seating her in one and then taking the one opposite for himself. 

“That, Miss Granger, was your first experience of the sensual delights of the Dark Arts.”

She looked at him in disbelief.

“Yes. The Dark Arts are seductive. They are wonderfully coercive, enticing, and can elicit some of the most sensual feelings known to wizardkind. How on earth do you imagine that people would become enmeshed in them otherwise? Dark Magic is a seducer, Miss Granger. It will rape your soul and make you believe you desire it.”

“Wow.”

“Indeed. Please remember that. Now, remain seated, and observe.”

He rose and returned to his desk chair, pointing his jet-black wand towards the necklace, incanting in Latin; a strange, almost melodious chant that caused tendrils of a black and green substance to emerge from the jewelled item like thick, coloured smoke. It emitted an indulgent perfume that caused her to inhale deeply and blissfully.

The tendrils continued to curl their way out of every opal on the necklace, until they were writhing above the desk in a twisting, turning ball of dark magic. Snape took aim. Shouting an incantation she did not know, in a louder voice than she had ever heard from him, the ball split into two, the strands of green and black separating from each other like a pile of knitting wool. The sounds from the floating strands of magic were the most peculiar thing she had ever heard, it was almost as if they were screaming in some unknown language. 

Her capable professor allowed the single-coloured jumbles to levitate in mid-air, momentarily. Finally, and with a sharp stab of his wand, he popped them both like Muggle party balloons, and Hermione immediately felt as deflated as them. She sighed, deeply.

“Like any great seduction, it has a finite life,” he told her, cryptically.

She stood, feeling restless and uncomfortable upon the hard wooden chair, and began to pace unbidden around the room. He rose from his chair and crossed the room towards her and took hold of her upper arms, turning her towards him. He should not be touching the girl, but they were both spiked with a heady cocktail of alluring dark magic, and it needed to be forced to dissipate. He had not expected the addition of the perfume, which had also heightened their somewhat intoxicated state. 

“We are both currently under the influence of the curse that I have just removed from the necklace. It is a new feeling for you; I appreciate, so therefore allow me to guide you. When I have an excess of Dark Magic within me, the only solution is to rid myself of it. You will need to join me.”

He gestured to her that she should move to the front of the classroom and stand in front of the raised teaching platform, before casting his wand across the room, shifting the desks and chairs out of the way, against the side walls, and conjuring a straight row of the wooden training dummies that they had used for DA practice in the Room of Requirement, six of them, standing identically straight and tall. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, in recognition.

He looked down at her. 

“I am well aware that you will have seen such items before, Miss Granger. Let us leave it at that.”

She nodded, guiltily. Snape knew about the DA sessions?

He bid her to stay in place, and then stepped forward in front of the row of dummies, and then without the use of his wand, he fired a quick and vicious Reducto curse at each one, blasting each of the heads off as he moved down the line. The whole process took no longer than four seconds. Hermione’s eyes widened at his skill and speed. 

Elegantly drawing his wand, he cast a sweeping Reparo at the splinters of wood that now littered the classroom, immediately restoring the dummies to their original forms. 

“Now you.”

She stepped forwards, suddenly desperate to cast the blasting spell; anything to relieve this unsettling feeling that was growing inside her. Raising her vinewood wand, she aimed at the first dummy and cast the strongest Reducto she could. It blasted apart satisfactorily, so she continued until all of them had been destroyed. Once again he repaired them. 

“Now again. Without your wand.”

She whirled to face him, incredulous. 

“Without my wand?”

“Without your wand, Miss Granger. A wand is only a conduit for your own inherent magic. You are capable of releasing that magic yourself, without one.”

She was wholly intrigued by his suggestion, and laid her wand down on his desk, stepping forward to the first dummy.

“Reducto.”

Nothing happened. 

She tried casting again, this time raising her wand arm as if she were holding it.

Again nothing. He stepped up, and stood behind her.

“Would you allow me to assist you?”

Hermione nodded, but shivered, as his voice seemed to resonate directly in her ear as he stood close behind her. Too close, a small part of her brain warned. She opted to ignore it as he turned her sideways-on to the dummies, slid his arm around her waist to rest his hand upon her abdomen, just where her ribs ended, and used his other arm to extend hers towards the first target. 

“Open your hand,” he growled, in a low voice, as he pressed his thumb into her palm and manipulated her fingers into opening as if she were about to catch a ball.

“Feel here,” he told her, pressing the flat of his other hand gently but firmly upon her diaphragm, which meant she was held tight against his chest. “This is your magical core, and feel here,” he added, stroking her open palm with his thumb, “as this is the point from where your core power will be released.”

Hermione couldn’t breathe. This heady feeling, this shortness of breath, this was all caused by the spike in dark magic that was thrumming through her, she knew that. 

“Breathe, Miss Granger. Breathe, and summon all your magic to your core. It is under my hand. When you feel you are about to burst from the power building up inside you, release the magic up your body, and down your wand arm. The spell will cast forth from your palm.”

Every synapse of her body seemed to be transferring its energy to where Snape’s hand was pressed against her abdomen. She could almost feel little bubbles travelling through her skin to join them. Was this her own magic, on the move? It felt incredible. She had never thought of her powers as a tangible entity before. This was a DADA lesson like no other. 

She began to tremble, and was grateful for the support of his strong body behind her. 

“It is nearly time to release,” he warned, quietly, and this time there was no mistaking that his mouth was pressed almost against the shell of her ear; for she could feel the hot breath from his lips as he spoke. 

Suddenly, drawing to her full height and shaking Snape off, a white-hot jet of magic shot from her palm, missing the target entirely and bouncing off a low rafter on the ceiling before hitting the floor with a loud bang. 

“Control it,” he hissed, backing away, further across the room now. “Channel it.”

Hermione aimed her palm towards the first target, heaving every bit of magical power she had harnessed, towards it. 

“Reducto!”

It didn’t so much break, as shatter into a million pieces that went skittering about the classroom. 

She turned to the next, and fired. And the next, firing again and again until the six dummies lay in absolute carnage before her. 

Breathing heavily, she turned to locate Professor Snape, who was leaning against his desk, arms folded and looking strangely proud at the destruction in front of him. 

“Better?” he asked, in a sardonic tone. 

“Much, thank you,” she gasped, still short of the required amount of oxygen needed to breathe and speak normally. “I should go now.”

“I would suggest that is a good idea, Miss Granger.”

“Thank you for everything you have taught me tonight, Sir.”

He nodded once in acknowledgement of her gratitude, and remained at his desk until she left the classroom. 

\- xxx –

As soon as the door had closed, he locked it behind her, and repaired the dummies yet again. Spiked with his own surfeit of dark magic that had been swirling inside him whilst he dealt with Granger’s excess, Severus was now approaching a dreamlike state.   
He fired curse after curse at the wooden figures, blasting them to smithereens and building them back up again, trying to rid himself of the euphoria of the dark magic that had combined to an intoxicating effect with his own natural adrenaline. 

It was no good. He needed to stop denying it.

It was not only the magic; he was sexually aroused, for fuck’s sake. 

Standing in such close proximity to a young witch, his chest pressed against her back as it had thrummed with the heady excess magic, wanting to press her tight little arse against the crotch of his trousers, had given him a raging erection and there was only one way he could rid himself of it. 

Vanishing the dummies, and restoring his classroom to its original state with a wave of his wand, Severus flew up the steps of the dais and the flight of stairs that led to his private rooms. 

He did not even have enough patience to undress, removing every stitch of his clothing on his bedroom floor using a Divesto charm. He stalked into the adjoining bathroom, turning the shower on to full blast before stepping beneath the beating jet in the large, stone-walled cubicle, allowing it to fall upon his head like a powerful waterfall, as if he could wash the forbidden thoughts from his head if he only heaped enough water upon it. 

Knowing that he had only one option open to him, he reached down and took himself in hand, beginning a slow tug on his now purple-headed cock, attempting to ease the pressure within. 

It was no good. In seconds he was assaulted by the memory of how her small body had felt beneath his hands, pressed against his chest. This was compounded by the thought of her breasts touching his arm as she had leaned over to get closer to the accursed necklace. Severus could only give in to his latent desires as he began to wank in earnest, roughly sliding his hand up and down the full length of his shaft as the hot water pounded down upon him. 

This young, but brilliant, girl had unwittingly been the closest bodily contact he’d ever had. No witch had ever lowered themselves to place their hands upon the odious Severus Snape, unless it was a female Death Eater, torturing him. No lips had ever touched his. There had never been a hand upon his cock that was not his own. He had certainly never felt the soft body of a witch beneath his hands the way he had done with Granger, tonight. 

His right hand became a blur as it wrung his orgasm from the end of his prick, blasting his sexual frustration against the grey stone wall of the shower. The sheer power of his magically-aided climax forced him to his knees on the shower floor, rutting his hips helplessly as his semen continued to burst forth, his throat choked with sobs and his back wracked with the pain of remaining controlled for so long. 

As the intense peak began to subside, he remained on his hands and knees, his black hair hanging over either side of his face like a pair of wet curtains, the water pounding upon his back as he knelt on the stone floor, consumed with guilt. He was a pervert of the highest degree, masturbating over a student. 

Shutting off the water, he clambered to his feet and staggered out of the bathroom towards the bed, casting cursory drying charms over himself as he went, and collapsed in the soft covers, breathing heavily. He would deal with the aftermath of this ... tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could not allow Voldemort even the slightest glimpse of Miss Granger inside his head. The instinct to protect her – it was strong.

Chapter 6

The spectator stands around the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch were a sea of red and gold as the Gryffindor team flew to their first victory of the season, and against Slytherin, no less. They had been helped in no small way by Ron Weasley’s most confident performance as Keeper ever, and new captain, Harry Potter, had been delighted with the way his first team had performed. 

Hermione had accosted Harry in the common room in the middle of an ebullient celebration after the match to berate him for his illegal use of Felix Felicis, but he had delighted in showing her the stoppered and sealed vial, proving that he had only pretended to slip it into Ron’s morning pumpkin juice. 

She had been so annoyed at being outsmarted by Harry that by the time Ron began rapaciously snogging Lavender Brown like a slavering walrus in the middle of the common room, she’d had more than enough of Quidditch, and her best friends, for one day, thank you very much. 

Still clad in her Gryffindor jumper and an old pair of jeans that she’d worn to the match, Hermione stomped away from them both and headed for her favourite place of refuge – the library. Unfortunately, it seemed that even Madam Pince had been enticed by the Quidditch frivolity, no doubt it was going on in the staffroom too, as the library door was shut and locked. 

For fuck’s sake, she thought, annoyed. Wasn’t there anywhere quiet to go around here? 

Unless ...

She was hit by the strangest idea, which was to head for the Defence classroom to talk to Professor Snape. How very odd. She reconciled this feeling by reasoning that she had nowhere else to go, since the library was closed, the common room was full of revellers and smuggled-in alcohol, and the red-headed wizard she had thought she fancied was currently snogging and groping Gryffindor house’s biggest bimbo goodness-knows-where around the castle. Hermione did not fancy running into them. 

She decided to go with her instinct. Snape could always tell her to sod off. 

When she reached the door of his classroom she opted to knock, since they did not have a scheduled tutorial arranged. 

“Enter.”

“Good afternoon, Professor. May I come in?”

“I would say it is nearly evening, Miss Granger, but yes I suppose you may, unless you have come to gloat over the Quidditch result, in which case I would advise you to leave extremely quickly before I hex you.”

She saw the green-and-silver Slytherin scarf on the desk next to him, and the tiniest hint of a smile playing around the crook of his mouth. She approached the front of the room, where he appeared to be working, as usual. Did he ever allow himself recreation time? Perhaps the Quidditch game had been just that, she remembered seeing him there in the teachers’ stand, stony-faced as usual. 

“I have certainly not come to gloat; I come seeking refuge from my common room.”

“And what, may I ask, are you seeking refuge from that is in your common room?”

“It is puerile.”

“No doubt,” he replied, sardonically, “but since you have imposed yourself upon my classroom and my free time, please do indulge me.”

She gave a deep sigh. Now this was embarrassing. But what had she expected by coming here? That he would not ask? This had been a crazy thing to do. Why had she felt the sudden need to be with Snape, of all people?

“Harry played a joke that made me look stupid. And Ron is snogging Lavender and I feel jealous,” she whinged, feeling about thirteen years old.

His eyes opened wide, as if he had not expected her to be so candid. He was obviously unused to acting as any kind of confidante, even amongst the students of his own Slytherin house. Snape aimed his wand at the chairs they used for Occlumency, turning them into two wingback armchairs, perhaps unaccustomed to being sought out for something so banal as a chat. 

Gesturing towards the transfigured chairs, they sat down together. Hermione sat cross-legged in the large chair, like some kind of fidgeting pixie. He sat with his elbows on the arms of the chairs, his fingers steepled on his chest. 

“I am generally not the teacher from whom any student would seek counsel, Miss Granger,” he began, “but let me advise you of the following. If Potter has managed to outsmart you on a prank, it is no more than he deserves after suffering five long years of being bettered and overshadowed by you. Let the boy have a single chance to prove he is not a complete idiot.”

She smiled at his strange manner of offering comfort. It was surprisingly helpful – blunt and to the point, with no unnecessary waffling or platitudes. 

“In addition, I would not waste one more iota of your intelligence fawning over the attention, or lack, thereof, from Ronald Weasley. The boy is a witless oaf and I would presume to say that he and Miss Brown deserve each other. I have no doubt that there will be a veritable stream of far more worthy wizards in your future, Miss Granger.”

He fixed her with a stare, his eyes the purest, volcanic black, and his expression unreadable. She had a brief flash of the previous week, of him standing behind her, his hands upon her, his mouth but a single breath away from her ear ... Hermione dampened down that inappropriate thought immediately, not least because he was a consummate Legilimens and if he read her mind right now it would be mortifying. She may as well drop out of Hogwarts entirely and live as a hermit in the wilderness if he’d heard that.

“Thank you. That is good advice.”

“Are you requiring a handkerchief?” he enquired, rifling in the breast pocket of his teaching robes. 

There was a conspicuous clanking sound of many tiny bottles rattling together as he delved into the small inner pocket, searching for the black cloth of his handkerchief. She looked at him, curiously. 

“No, I’m fine. No eye leakage happening here. Just me being stupid. But, Professor, I’m sorry to be so thoroughly nosey, but the noise from your pocket ...?”

Snape looked at her with a sly expression. 

“Not much passes your keen eye, does it, Miss Granger? However, since you are my private student, I shall indulge you. I am using an Undetectable Extension Charm. It allows for a receptacle such as a bag, suitcase or pocket to be expanded to a far greater volume whilst remaining the same externally, both in size and weight.”

To demonstrate, he reached into the pocket and pulled out half a dozen glass potion vials, shaking the cloth to indicate there were more inside. 

“Goodness, that is amazing. Could you teach me the charm? Please?”

“Granger, you are relentless.”

“I know, I really am sorry. But, would you?”

His use of Granger to address her, without title, had not gone unnoticed, by either of them. 

Letting out a deep sigh that she wasn’t entirely sure he really meant, he summoned a small table between them, along with a book bag that had been left in his classroom before the weekend. Emptying out the books of the forgetful student, he proceeded to teach her how to apply an Extension Charm to the bag, and how it would greatly increase the bag’s capacity. 

Once she was proficient in casting the charm herself, he sat back in his chair, no longer trying to hide his amusement as he watched the young witch wander around the room, looking for items that she could stuff into the bag, marvelling that everything fitted, and the bag never got any heavier. 

“This is an amazing charm. I wonder why Professor Flitwick has never taught us this? It would be so helpful to carry everything I need around the castle.”

“I doubt that any student has ever had cause to carry around as many books as you do,” he drawled in reply, and she grinned to show that she accepted that was probably true. 

She sat back in the opposite chair, the purloined bag filled with most of the contents of his classroom, and he decided that it would be appropriate to offer her some tea before instructing her to empty the bag of all his property, before sending her back to Gryffindor Tower. The impromptu lesson had been surprisingly pleasant, and the girl was such a receptive student. He was about to suggest ordering tea from the kitchens, when his left forearm burned, indicating the call of the Dark Lord. 

Oh, fuck off, Riddle. Your timing is fucking impeccable, as always. 

Despite the churlish thought, he could not help but hiss in pain, and clutch his arm to his chest, getting obediently quickly to his feet. 

“I must go. Immediately. Please return to your dormitory, Miss Granger.”

She had not missed his exclamation of pain and the clutch of his left arm, and knew exactly what had happened, he was being summoned. She would not delay him. 

“Certainly, Sir. Please ... take care.” 

There was no time even for thanks, and she exited the room as quickly as she possibly could. 

Making her way back to Gryffindor Tower the long way, Hermione passed a tall window that looked out over the front lawns of Hogwarts, all the way down to the boar-topped gates that were the only way to enter or exit the castle grounds. She was unsurprised to see Professor Snape heading towards the gate, and the Apparition point just outside them, his dark hair and black cloak flying out behind him with the pace he was setting. What she hadn’t expected, however, was to see that he was not alone. The blonde head and shorter build of Draco Malfoy was stalking alongside him, walking with just as much intent. 

If Snape had been summoned by the Dark Mark, then clearly Draco had too ... it appeared as if Harry’s suspicions were indeed correct. Draco Malfoy, not yet of age, a Death Eater?

\- xxx –

Severus and Draco apparated in to the Death Eater gathering that was being held at the boy’s family home at Malfoy Manor. Draco had refused to speak to him all the way down from the castle doors until they reached the gates of the school. No doubt he knew he was in serious trouble for not answering his Head of House’s summons, although the loss of twenty housepoints paled into insignificance when being summoned by a despotic madman. 

As they entered one of the dining rooms where the Dark Lord and his minions were assembled, Severus was hit with an immediate jolt of fear. 

Hermione Granger was in his head. 

It was causing him enough consternation that he was having inappropriate thoughts about a student, but for this psychotic bastard to discover them would be as good as handing the girl over on a silver platter to be eaten alive.  
Despite having not been called up for a Legilimised interrogation thus far tonight, Severus began to Occlude, perhaps harder than he ever had before, as for the very first time, he had another person to protect. He could not allow Voldemort even the slightest glimpse of Miss Granger inside his head. The instinct to protect her – it was strong. 

He watched, appalled, as Draco was disciplined for his failure to bring about the murder of Albus Dumbledore on his first attempt. Voldemort had cast the Crucio himself, and Narcissa Malfoy had run, weeping, from the room as her son writhed in agony, impotent to help him. 

Bellatrix had also found herself under scrutiny for placing the curses on the necklace that Draco had attempted to foist upon Dumbledore, with horrific results against one of his fellow students. He had never seen another witch or wizard who appeared to enjoy a Crucio as much as Bella. She pissed herself, as she always did, and then allowed the Dark Lord to seat her on his lap and put his scaly, long-fingernailed hand up her skirts and fondle her through her soaked underwear. 

It was just as repulsive as the first time Severus had seen them play this particular game. Bella’s husband, Rodolphus, appeared unmoved. Perhaps the rumours of his homosexuality were true, after all. 

After the casting of Unforgiveables against Bella and Draco, Voldemort seemed satisfied for the evening, although Severus knew not to release a sigh of relief until he was safely back at Hogwarts, for the Dark Lord could turn at any moment, on a whim, even as a Death Eater was halfway out of the door. 

Narcissa had appealed for Draco to remain at home so that she could care for him, but Severus had witheringly pointed out that her only son was far safer at Hogwarts than at home, where he had ended up in his current state, battered and broken on his own floor, after the punishment he’d received. 

Severus had apparated Draco back to school, and carried him in his arms the entire distance from the gates to the school, and delivered the boy safely into the care of Madam Pomfrey, in the hospital wing. The Medi-witch had remained tight-lipped at Malfoy’s condition, but nevertheless began to treat him with the same ruthless efficiency that all her patients received. 

He then retired to his own private chambers, relieved, as always, just to be alive. 

\- xxx –

Thoroughly sick of watching Ron snog Lavender at any given opportunity, and observing Harry’s ill-disguised mooning over Ginny Weasley, Hermione was looking forward to her next private lesson with Professor Snape a few days later.  
Word had got round that Draco Malfoy was in the hospital wing with a mystery illness, and Hermione suspected that he had been injured at the meeting that he and Snape had been summoned to. 

She wondered if Snape had also been injured, and had simply covered it with a glamour, as she’d seen him do at Grimmauld Place. Maybe she might even have the courage to ask him, as he was certainly becoming less uptight in his dealings with her. Some of their lessons she had actively enjoyed, and there had been a moment, when he’d been teaching her the Undetectable Extension charm, that Hermione could have sworn he’d actually smiled. 

Entering the Defence classroom, even darker and gloomier than usual, with her newly-extended bag over her shoulder, she saw that the two straight-backed wooden chairs were already set up and waiting. She headed straight for them, secretly preferring the two comfortable armchairs they had used during their chat after the Quidditch match. 

“Not so fast, Miss Granger. Although we will indeed be using these chairs, you should know that our plans tonight are slightly different. The headmaster, in his great wisdom, has decided that it would be prudent if you also learned some basic Legilimency. He feels there may be ... occasions when such a skill would be of benefit to you, for instance if you needed to be fully aware if you could trust an ally. Are you in agreement with being instructed in this additional skill?”

“Well, of course, I’m happy to learn anything you wish to teach me. But, who will I ...?”

“Me, Miss Granger. You will be attempting to Legilimise me. Since there are only the two of us in these private lessons.”

“That will never work! You’ll Occlude me.”

“I will not Occlude you.”

“You promise?”

“I have no need to promise, since you will not succeed. I believe this to be a pointless exercise. The ability to Legilimise, unlike Occlumency, is inherent, and not something that can be taught. If you were a Legilimens, you would know. You would have been nosily reading your friends’ thoughts for years.”

That statement was like waving a bright crimson flag in front of a rampaging bull. Had he learnt nothing about her in the last few weeks? She supposed not. She was just another student to him, of course. However, she was a student who loved a challenge, and nothing goaded her to succeed more than being told – You Can’t.

Snape finally sat down, in the wooden chair opposite her, looking faintly amused and rather bored. 

“You know the incantation. Place your wand at my temple, and when you are ready, cast. If you have the ability, you will connect instantly. Should you succeed, which I highly doubt, I would request that you immediately cancel the spell, since I have not removed my private thoughts and memories to the Pensieve. There is little point in me taking an inordinately long time to remove everything that I wish to keep hidden from you unless it is absolutely necessary.”

He sat back in the chair, almost casually. It infuriated her. He had written her off before she had even begun. Hermione closed her eyes, and tried to access the place where she was able to meditate, clear her mind and fill it with the white mist of her Occlusion. Surely it would be this open, receptive, transient part of her mind that she would send into the mind of another to view the ... information their own mind held? She would at least try. 

Opening her eyes, and locking them with his, she raised her wand to his temple, and cast. 

“Legilimens.” 

Hermione was immediately assaulted by a mind so crammed full of information that she did not know which way to turn, or what to do next. It was like entering her worst nightmare, piles of junk a mile high, in every direction. She could see his eyes widen in shock, a sea of horrified black swimming before her own. 

Her own mind was full, but her thoughts were ordered, controlled, filed, organised. Entering Professor Snape’s mind was like walking into ... well, goodness knows what this was. A fucking mess, if she were being completely honest. 

She had a quick, terrifying flash of Voldemort, and of Draco contorted in agony at the end of his wand, writhing on the floor somewhere. Those thoughts were quickly snatched away, Occluded from her prying eyes. But everywhere she looked, there was something to draw her in. She couldn’t stop. 

“Miss Granger. Break the connection immediately. Remove yourself from my mind.”

She could hear his voice, although it seemed far away. She tried to drop her wand from his temple, but could not. 

“I can’t, I don’t know how to do it,” she replied, helplessly, only half-focusing since his innermost thoughts, feelings and memories were spinning around in front of her, jostling for position, desperate to be viewed as quickly as he was hiding them. She could feel his panic. It almost matched her own. She was stuck. 

Suddenly, she saw herself. She felt him desperately trying to Occlude any sight of her from her invading eyes. 

“Granger, no! Get out! Get out now! I forbid this!”

Snape was shouting now, but had the Dark Lord himself entered and yanked her forcibly from her professor’s mind, she could not have broken the connection. 

Whilst he was racing around covering up the visual images, actually very successfully, his thoughts began to scream at her in a confused, erratic jumble of inner torment. 

“I am a disgrace. Untouched myself, and yet I lust after my student like a lecherous old man. 

A life lived without love. No witch will ever want me. 

Hermione ... kiss me. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Fuck you, Albus, for putting me in this position. 

I need her. I crave to place my fingers inside her; I cannot die without knowing how a woman feels inside. 

Let me touch you, girl. 

You are disgusting.

No witch has ever allowed your touch. No witch ever will ...”

He finally broke the connection through the sheer brute force of his Occlumency. Granger was forcibly ejected from his mind, her wand slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor. They remained facing each other on the edge of the wooden chairs, inches away in distance, but a there was a chasm a mile wide between them. Both knew what the other had seen and heard. 

His secret was out. He was distraught. But yet he could not break the final connection, the one between their eyes. They stared at each other, both breathing so heavily that their shoulders were heaving with the effort of taking in enough oxygen to keep them conscious. 

Without knowing what she was doing, Hermione let her knees part. Just slightly. Just the tiniest amount. 

He raised his eyebrow at her. What the fuck was she doing? Granger opened her knees a little wider, all the time not breaking eye contact. Her scarlet face and her ragged breathing suggested that she was as terrified as he. 

Hermione looked into the black pools of his eyes, now flashing with volcanic fire, no longer a shutter to his soul. The words she had heard without his permission were pressing themselves upon her brain. 

I cannot die without knowing how a woman feels inside.

He had taught her. Now it seemed she could teach him something in return. 

Severus moved his arms forwards as if he was outside of his own control, and placed his hands upon her knees. She made no sound. She accepted his touch. He began to push her skirt up her legs, higher, inch by inch, uncovering her. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he uncovered her knickers. 

It was clear that he could not form the words to ask his question. Instead, in the raise of his arched eyebrow was everything he wanted to ask. She gave a single bob of her head, consenting, encouraging, even. 

Snape pushed her thighs further apart, and reached higher, his pale hands trembling as his long fingers touched the seat of her knickers, stroking a single digit down the length of the material. Quickly, his left hand slipped under the elastic and pulled the material to one side, exposing her most private places to his view. She shuffled minutely forward on the chair, so that she was sitting on the edge, giving him a little more space. She wanted him to touch her. 

He extended his right hand, palm upwards, towards her exposed pussy, finding her vaginal opening with his middle finger, lightly circling the tip in the wetness he found there. She continued to hold his eyes, continued to encourage him.  
Without any further warning, he sank his finger fully inside her. 

She let out a gasp, and this was met with a tortured groan from him. 

Fucking Merlin. Fucking hell. 

He had his finger knuckle-deep in the cunt of one of his students. 

And it felt like fucking heaven. 

From all the wizarding porn he had viewed, he had never guessed that the inside of a woman would feel like this; hot, wet walls clenching tightly around his invading finger. He knew his anatomy – he’d just never completed the practical. 

Severus crooked the top of his finger, feeling for the spongy pile of nerves that he knew he would find there, and was gratified to see her eyes flutter closed for a second, accompanied by a little gasp that went straight to his cock. He did it again. 

Professor Snape was touching a part of her, deep inside; that she hadn’t known existed before that very second. It made her want to orgasm and wet herself in equal measure. He did it once, twice, and a third time and it felt amazing, but overwhelming. 

Suddenly, there was a loud thump on the classroom door, and the lock rattled alarmingly, which seemed to snap both of them out of their transcendent reverie and turn towards the sound of the noise. 

He pulled his finger from her in a single second, and Hermione was off the chair in another, yanking her skirt back into position and picking up her wand and bag, before heading down the central aisle of the DADA classroom without another word. She unlocked the door and wrenched it open, finding no one outside. Some prat must have just bumped against it whilst walking clumsily down the corridor with their friends. 

She turned back to Snape, still seated in the chair, shaking her head to tell him there was no one at the door, before tentatively raising a small hand in farewell. She needed to leave and get back to the dormitory, because she had no idea what had just happened, why he had done it, and why she had initiated it in the first place. 

Severus sprinted up the stairs to his private quarters, throwing the door shut behind him and leaning heavily upon it. Despising himself, he brought his right hand up to his face, inhaling deeply the musky and unfamiliar scent that was slicked along his middle finger. It was exquisite. He could do nothing but put the digit into his own mouth, licking and sucking every drop of her essence from it that his searching tongue could find. 

What the absolute fuck had just happened here?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You knew that Granger was a Legilimens. You knew, and you sent her to invade my mind. To discover my personal secrets, my private shame.”

Chapter 7

Hermione walked slowly down the echoing stone corridors of Hogwarts, heading for the portrait hole that guarded the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. It was still relatively early, and curfew had not yet passed. This evening’s private tutorial had been over far sooner than previous sessions, and there was plenty of time left before she was required to be in her dormitory. 

No doubt everyone would still be up in the common room, including her annoying dormitory-mates, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Hermione’s desire to jump into her bed, douse the lights, and lay there listening to the whirring of her own brain was likely to be scuppered by the usual dormitory larking-about which generally took place before the time came for lights out. She was in no hurry to join the two vacuous young witches. 

Therefore, she did not rush, and instead moved at a relaxed pace, taking inhaling slowly and deeply to calm her breathing and to quell the rapid beating of her heart, which had felt like it was going to thump out of her chest as she left the classroom, but was now approaching a much more normal and steady beat as the cool air of the draughty corridors circled around her. 

The blush, which had heated her face as if it were a cauldron over a flame, was beginning to cool, and hopefully recede. There was nothing immediate she could do about the dampness in her knickers, however. 

She was surprised by the turn of events, but more shocking was the lack of regret she currently felt. She had never fancied or had a crush on any teacher, with the exception of a passing interest in Professor Lockhart during second year, the same as the rest of the girls, but it was an interest quickly doused by the discovery that the man was an idiot. And now she had found herself in a compromising position with Professor Snape?

Hermione was entirely certain that she had never looked at the surly, unpleasant wizard in that way before, although it was true that she held him in higher esteem than most of the students did. She was always respectful of his skill and knowledge, reminding Harry and Ron to use his correct title and entreating them to behave better, but had most definitely never felt attracted to him. 

Really, Hermione?

Feeling the flush rising up her neck again at the possibility she was lying to herself, she remembered the private session where he had allowed her to sense the dark magic in the cursed necklace, and had stood so very close behind as he’d taught her how to feel for her own inherent magic inside, and release it without using a wand as a conduit. The tangible sense of being able to physically feel her powers had been nothing less than a wonderful experience. The atmosphere that evening had felt charged and vital, although she had put this down to the surfeit of dark magic around them. Could it have been ... more? 

A pulse between her legs confirmed her suspicions and forced her to admit the truth. She had been aroused by his touch, by the feel of his large, capable hands touching and moving her, by being pressed against his solid chest that had felt hard and unmoving upon her back, proving he had an inner strength belied by his slim frame.

It still doesn’t mean I fancy him, she thought, a little crossly. She was an adult witch; it only made logical sense that she had adult biological desires. 

Finding herself unexpectedly in the chaotic mess of Snape’s mind was so shocking that she’d been unable to cancel the Legilimised connection, unable to stop viewing his thoughts, feelings and memories that had surrounded her, that had fought for her attention, almost as if they were desperate to be seen, as if they had finally sensed an escape route from the disordered prison in which they were contained. 

Had he wanted her to see his thoughts?

His touch had been tentative, hesitant, but utterly satisfying. As he had sunk his long finger inside her, the blissful shock in his famously stern eyes had been a sight to behold. She had made him feel that way. It made her feel ... curiously powerful. 

Reaching the portrait hole and climbing through after giving the password to the Fat Lady, Hermione saw that she had been entirely correct, the common room was still full of students talking, laughing, and scribbling at homework. Harry called her over to the large sofa in front of the fire where he sat with Ron and Lavender, Seamus, Dean, Parvati and Neville. 

As she approached, Hermione was amused to see Lavender snatch up Ron’s hand in a gesture of possessiveness, holding it between both of hers, stroking the back of his freckled hand with a long, scarlet-painted fingernail. If only Lavender knew just how disinterested Hermione was in Ronald Weasley just at that moment, the silly girl would not have bothered. 

Sitting on the rug in front of Harry legs, where he sat on the sofa, he gave her an affectionate ruffle on the top of her curly head by way of a greeting. The conversation resumed, and fairly soon it was just white noise around her. Hermione could only wonder whether her actions, or rather, their mutual actions, tonight would mean the end of her private lessons with Snape, and found herself calling her timetable to mind, trying to remember if they had DADA tomorrow. 

\- xxx –

Severus stepped through the Floo connection that Albus had opened between their offices, following his fire-call requesting to see the headmaster urgently. 

“You knew,” he spat, pointing an accusing finger at the old man behind the desk. 

“Good evening, Severus. Please do have a seat. Cockroach Cluster?”

Snape ignored him, and continued to pace in front of the large mahogany desk. 

“You knew that Granger was a Legilimens. You knew, and you sent her to invade my mind. To discover my personal secrets, my private shame.”

Dumbledore did not answer, but instead remained relaxed in his chair, an infuriatingly pleasant look upon his face whilst he waited for the angry younger wizard to cease his pacing. Realising what Albus was up to, and that he would not speak until he was seated as instructed, Snape threw himself into the opposite chair like a sulky, recalcitrant child, and raised an angry eyebrow to suggest that Albus better answer him, and quickly. 

“Thank you, Severus. Now, let me assure you that Miss Granger is not a Legilimens. If she were, she would have been aware of this for many years now. I do admit, that given the speed in which she has learnt the rudiments of Occlumency, I did wonder if she possessed a transient part of her mind which she could harness in order to Legilimise when needed, hence my suggestion. Should I take it that she was successfully able to access your mind?”

He snorted in derision. 

“My mind, Albus? Not only that. She has seen my thoughts, my feelings, my fears, my memories ... and my desires.”

Severus stared down the Headmaster, black eyes to blue, just daring him to look away. 

“Ah.”

Without a further word being spoken, the omniscient wizard seemed to understand all that Severus was trying to say. 

“Ah, indeed,” Snape growled.

Albus regarded Severus over the top of his steepled fingers for a very long time. 

“Does Miss Granger feel the same way?”

“What kind of a fucking question is that?”

“You desire her. No, do not interrupt me, Severus. You desire her. There is nothing to be ashamed of in that. You are a young wizard and she is an attractive young witch. I merely wondered if she felt a similar attraction towards you.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of? She is a fucking student! She is my private fucking student, Albus! I don’t give a shit if she is of age or not, you forced her upon me; commanded and engineered this strange ... relationship we now have.”

“A relationship, eh? Well, that developed faster than I had intended, but no matter.”

“Faster than you intended ... What you are playing at, old man?”

Severus leapt to his feet again, stalking in fury over to the window where the first snows of winter were beginning to fall, turning the Scottish highlands around the castle into acres of white blankets. 

“We are about to fight a war, Severus. A war in which you are playing an essential, dangerous and thankless part. You allow no one near to you. You trust no one. I sought merely to rectify that, because you need someone. You will need someone ... at the close.”

He whirled around to face the headmaster, whose tone had changed from light to serious. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, for he knew there was so much this brilliant but flawed wizard was keeping from him, he fucking knew it. 

“How do you know what I will need? There is no possible way you could know.”

Albus did not answer, but Severus distinctly saw his eyes flick to the small drawer in his desk, where he had been convinced that the headmaster was concealing a Time Turner. An implement that he believed had already been used to visit the future. He believed that Dumbledore already knew the outcome of the impending war, because if he didn’t, he was the most controlling, most deranged human being in the wizarding world, excepting Voldemort. 

“So, am I to assume,” Severus bit out, between gritted teeth, “that you are giving all professors the go-ahead to pursue inappropriate relationships with the students? That children may now be taken advantage of without compunction? Perhaps I should post a notice in the staff room advising everyone of the change in school policy.”

“Don’t be dramatic, my boy. You would never take advantage of anyone, not to mention that our Miss Granger has been of age for nearly three months now.”

“That hardly constitutes an answer.”

“An answer to what? I find that I have already forgotten this conversation, Severus. You will have to forgive an old man his poor memory.”

Dumbledore flicked his hand towards the fire, dismissing his DADA professor, and returning the paperwork on the desk before him. 

Severus spun around and threw an angry handful of Floo powder into the fire before stepping through to quickly return to his own office, lest he murder the headmaster before the allotted time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Furthermore, I can assure you, Miss Granger, that far from forcing me, you instead provided me with an experience that was ... quite outstanding. Unlike your essay.”

Chapter 8

Sitting next to Harry in their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson the following day, Hermione was listening intently, refusing to allow her private distraction to affect her performance in the classroom. Those seven NEWTs had her name on them, and she was determined that nothing, not even the rising of a Dark Lord, would prevent her from passing every single one with an Outstanding grade. 

Snape’s quiet, somewhat threatening voice was lecturing from the teaching platform, filling out the gaps in their knowledge of Unforgiveables, in a rather more theoretical way than a polyjuiced Moody/Crouch had done in their fourth year, when he demonstrated each curse on a spider, to the combined horror of the class. Hermione noticed Draco Malfoy shift uncomfortably in his chair; he had been released from the hospital wing, but still appeared to be in some pain. From the snatched memory she had seen in Snape’s mind, she suspected that Draco had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse on the night she had seen the two wizards attend Voldemort’s summons. 

To his credit, Professor Snape seemed exactly as he always did. There was no indication, either to herself or others, of the intimate exchange that had passed between the two of them the previous evening. She wasn’t sure if she felt disappointed about that, but really what had she expected? Lingering glances across the classroom? Psssh. How inane. 

As the end of the lesson approached, their marked essays were returned to them, thirty scrolls of parchment were sent flying across the room with an arrogant flick of Snape’s wand to land on the desks of their author, where they were unrolled with trepidation. Harry was pleased with his Acceptable, despite having scored much higher under previous DADA professors. He would always have to work so much harder to please Snape, and on occasion she could feel her friend’s rage at the unfairness of the partisan teaching. 

She unfurled her own essay to see a small ‘E’ in the bottom right-hand corner in red ink, along with the comment; 

Commendable effort, Miss Granger. However, I would like to see more of your own views and opinions, rather than just mindless regurgitation of the textbook. 

How annoying. She had spent hours on that essay and had been hoping for an Outstanding. At least he had given her some constructive feedback rather than just scrawling insults on the bottom of her script, as it seemed everyone else had received. 

Snape dismissed the class, and a hum of chatter began to swell in the room along with a scraping of chairs as the students made to leave the room. 

“I’ll catch up with you after break,” she told Harry and Ron, “I need to see Professor Snape about my essay.”

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Hermione, you got an E. That’s a really good grade. You don’t have to get an O on every essay you write. Come to break. Neville’s grandmother has sent him a tuck box the size of Honeydukes and he’s promised to share it out in the common room.”

“Sweets and chocolates won’t change my mind, Harry,” she chided, smugly, sweeping her books into her arms and heading towards Snape’s desk at the front of the classroom. 

“Still mad, that one,” said Ron, shaking his head in Hermione’s direction, his mind clearly on a bar of Honeydukes finest chocolate. 

“Excuse me, Professor Snape, may I speak with you about my essay please?”

He looked up from where he was writing on a large length of printed parchment. Meeting her eyes for the first time that lesson, he gave nothing away as to his current thoughts. 

“If you must,” he sighed, “although I trust you will not take up my entire break time?”

She heard Ron snort as he left the classroom; no doubt laughing at her, and then they were left alone, for he and Harry were the last to exit.

“What is the problem with your essay, Miss Granger?” he asked her, curtly. 

“I don’t wish to speak with you about my essay,” she started, taking a deep breath. “I wish to apologise.”

Hermione thought she could detect a slight expression of surprise in his neutral face, and after a pause, he picked up his wand and flicked it at the door, sliding the bolt across. He settled his hands clasped together on the desk surface, his quill already returned to the inkwell, and regarded her, as if he had a question where the answer was to be found written on her face. 

“And for what reason should you wish to apologise?”

“For not being able to remove myself from your mind. For seeing things that you would have rather kept private. And ... for practically forcing you to ... touch me.” 

Her face and neck were hot, no doubt flushing embarrassingly red, and she clutched at the small pile of books she held in her arms for support. He continued to stare at her, and she wished he would just bloody answer, even if it was only to send her away. Finally, and at great length he spoke, his voice quiet and even. 

“Your apology is appreciated, but unnecessary. It is not your fault that you were unable to break the Legilimency connection, it being the first time you cast it. It is my fault for not emptying my mind beforehand, since it would have been a long and laborious task. I admit I had not thought you capable of performing the spell.”

He swallowed deeply, and she thought she could see a slight pinkness to his deathly-white cheeks.

“Furthermore, I can assure you, Miss Granger, that far from forcing me, you instead provided me with an experience that was ... quite outstanding. Unlike your essay.”

He quirked one side of his mouth into a tiny smirk and she could not help but return it, especially when a flash of humour appeared in his black eyes. 

“It is I who should apologise,” he continued. “My actions were entirely inappropriate between a professor and student. I shall advise the headmaster that you will not be continuing your private lessons with me, through no fault of your own.”

What?

“But Sir,” she began. “Do we have to? Cancel them, I mean.”

He looked surprised. 

“It is your wish that we continue?”

“Of course it is!”

“Forgive me. I was under the impression that you were only attending the lessons under sufferance that the headmaster had requested you take them.”

“Perhaps at first. I was quite scared at the thought of ... being alone with you. But almost immediately I realised just how much I can learn from you, if you are still willing to teach me. Please allow me to continue, Professor?”

There was another long pause, so she shoved her textbooks and the E-grade essay haphazardly into her schoolbag in order to occupy her hands. 

“You are less scared of being alone with me now?”

She smiled, genuinely. 

“Actually, I’m not scared of you at all.”

He pulled a disapproving face. 

“We shall need to remedy that, Miss Granger. I cannot have a rumour loose about this school that there is a student who does not fear me.”

She stepped closer to the desk and rested her hands on the surface, not far from his own. 

“I really am very sorry, Sir.”

“As am I. Let us leave it at that. I shall therefore expect you to keep your scheduled lesson appointment tomorrow.”

“Nine pm.”

“Indeed. Good day, Miss Granger.”

“Good day, Sir.”

\- xxx –

There was great excitement at breakfast the following morning, when the members of the so-called ‘Slug Club’ received their invitations to Professor Horace Slughorn’s formal Christmas party. These were delivered by owl, the recipients making a great show of opening the glossy red and green hardbacked invites, and once it was known that each invitee could bring a guest, it generated a great deal more interest. 

Hermione had propped her invitation on the small chest of drawers next to her bed, mainly to annoy Lavender and Parvati, who had not been invited. She knew Lavender was shitting herself that Hermione would ask Ron to accompany her, as it was common knowledge that he badly wanted to attend since his sister and two best friends were going. Ron himself had dropped endless hints that she should take him, so that he wasn’t ‘left out’. It was a bit pathetic, really. 

She entered the Defence classroom for her tutorial that evening somewhat pissed off at his constant whining. It wasn’t her fault that Slughorn didn’t think Ronald clever, or promising, or influential enough to induct him into the Slug Club. 

Snape was sitting, unusually, at a student desk, in front of which he had pulled a chair that he wordlessly indicated she should sit in. On the desk was a small metal dish, about the size of a soup bowl, filled with a watery green potion that looked a bit like seawater. He watched her look at it. 

“What do you suppose this is?” he asked, without greeting or preamble. 

“I would say ‘A Potion’, but that would seem a churlish and pedantic answer.”

“Indeed. I would expect an answer like that from Longbottom. Try harder. You may touch it, but you may not taste it.”

She moved her hand towards the bowl and made to dip a finger into the liquid, but as her digit came close to the surface she was unable to move it further. Looking up at him, she saw that he had leaned back in the chair with his arms folded, a clear expression of satisfaction upon his face. She tried again, to the same effect. She tried to slip her finger in sideways across the rim of the bowl, or plunge her whole hand in, but the effect was always the same. What would her conclusion be with so little to go on? 

“This is a potion that may have dark intent. Something in the compound of ingredients is preventing me from touching it. Since I have never heard of potions actually being able to do this, I am going to hazard a guess that a spell has been cast across it to prevent it being drunk by anyone apart from the intended recipient. I have no idea what the potion is, nor what it would be used for. I believe that you may be the brewer.”

She did not add that the reason she believed him to be the brewer was due to the smug look currently spread across his face. That might be considered rude. 

“Satisfactory, Miss Granger. This is indeed a creation of mine and the purpose is two-fold. Firstly, it is indeed an extremely dark brew that generates extreme thirst, although it must be drunk in great quantities to be fatal. Its purpose is to deconstruct the victim’s psyche, to haunt them with their greatest fears, to tear them apart with guilt they may feel over past actions, however innocuous.”

“That is horrible. Why would you create something like that?”

He fixed her with a most foreboding look, managing to look both fearsome and shamed at the same time. 

“You are aware of my ... loyalties, of my obligations. I was required to produce this.”

“I understand,” she replied, feeling bad that she had asked. “And what is the second purpose?”

“The second purpose, is that the potion can only be removed from the receptacle in which it is stored by someone who fully intends to drink it. This is why you could not touch it, because you had no intention of drinking it. I cannot either.”

He demonstrated, moving his hands over the potion so that she could see that he too was unable to touch the thin green brew. 

“This is just another piece of knowledge to add to your arsenal, Miss Granger. The dark magic imbued in the very ingredients knows whether it will be consumed. Imagine that, a mere potion that knows the absolute truth of your heart. Imagine how dangerous a piece of magic like this would be in the wrong hands?”

“It is already in the wrong hands, isn’t it, Sir?”

“Unfortunately, it is.”

Once again, they were staring at one another, eyes locked and breathing rapid. He had been forced to create this potion, create this dark spell that had the combined potential to do so much harm, both mentally and physically, but at what cost to his own soul?   
Did he feel trapped by his role in the Order? His life must be hellish at present. Hermione thought, not for the first time, of him concealing his injuries from the other Order members at Grimmauld Place. Did any of them realise the precarious line he was walking, the treatment he was receiving? Feeling a pang of sympathy, she lifted her hand and placed it on top of his, atop the desk, in an attempt to offer some comfort. 

He allowed it to remain there for a few seconds, before gently pulling his hand out from underneath hers. 

“Let us not confuse ourselves again, as to the nature of our interactions,” he told her, quietly.

She gave a slow, slightly rueful nod, but could not tear her eyes from his. Quite unbidden, she felt the mobile, transient part of her mind begin to drift towards his, despite not having raised her wand nor cast an incantation. 

What?

He felt her press lightly against his mind, soft and tender, gently requesting entry. What was she doing, and more importantly, why was he allowing it? He felt his own mind capitulate at her touch, allowing the slightest chink to open for her. He heard her gasp, and knew what she could see. It was at the very forefront of his mind, he had been thinking it as soon as she had walked into the classroom and shown such intellectual interest in the potion, there was no way she could have not seen. 

A vision of the two of them. Making love. He was thinking about nothing apart from how it would feel to be intimate with this young witch, and could not tear his filthy mind away from the imagery.

Hermione closed her eyes, and for good measure covered her face with her hands to block the inadvertent connection she had created. He was thinking about her in that way? 

The professor jumped to his feet as she pulled out of his mind, as quickly and suddenly as if he’d had scalding water dropped in his lap, and stalked across the room towards the stairs that led to the pulpit balcony at the top of the room, undoubtedly his private rooms. 

He turned at the top, pointing his wand at the bowl full of the potion they had just been discussing, casting an Evanesco to vanish it. 

“Good evening, Miss Granger,” he said, before walking through the door and closing it surprisingly quietly behind him. 

\- xxx –

Left in the classroom, she stood motionless for a few seconds, her mind in a daze. Her first instinct was to run, but her second, which came hot on its heels, urged her to follow him, to persuade him to talk, to find out more about him. He was only a man, after all. She had no reason to be scared of him. She hoped. 

Hermione pulled her Gryffindor school uniform jumper over her head and laid it on the desk, before unknotting her red-and-gold striped tie and pulling it out from the collar of her white shirt, undoing the top button, and placing the distinctive house tie atop the discarded jumper. Right now, she did not wish to look like a schoolgirl. 

Gathering her courage, she headed towards the stairs and climbed them; knocking on the door she had seen him leave through, before she completely lost her bottle and ran. He opened the door almost immediately, as if he had been standing right there, pulling it closed behind him so that she could not see into his chambers, and holding it ajar. 

“Sir.”

“These are my private chambers, Miss Granger. These are for myself alone, and for other adults whom I might wish to invite inside. They are not a place for students.”

“I am of age, as you well know.”

“But yet, you are still a student.”

“All traces of Gryffindor are lying on that desk in your classroom,” she said, indicating her lack of school tie. 

“Do not toy with me. I can assure you that the consequences would be ... severe.”

“I have no intention of toying with you, Professor. I merely wish to talk to you.”

“You wish to talk to me,” he intoned, dully. 

“Yes, I do. I believe there is an elephant in the room that we are avoiding.”

“What a very Muggle analogy, Miss Granger,” he drawled. 

“That’s Muggle-borns for you, Sir. Now, may I come in?”

His expression did not change, so if he was annoyed or surprised at her manner of address, he did not show it. His face remained dark and intense, but he extended his right arm that was holding the door, so that it opened wide, leaving a space for her to duck under his arm and enter his rooms. 

Hermione stood in the middle of the circular room; his private office was obviously built into one of the round side turrets that adorned Hogwarts castle. There were two doors that led elsewhere, although both were closed, and this room was dominated by a large wooden desk, bookcases crammed to bursting and a very dark green leather sofa, where he bade her to sit down. 

She settled herself, bringing her legs up and crossing them before turning to face him when he seated himself next to her. 

“I fail to see what necessitates such a discussion. It is highly irregular that you are in here.”

“You’re a virgin,” she blurted, interrupting him. “You’re a virgin, and you’re dreadfully upset that I found out. You’re worried I’ll tell people.”

His eyes widened in surprise, or more likely, shock. 

“That is absolutely none of your business, Miss Granger.”

“I’m not.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not a virgin.”

“That is of no possible concern to me.”

“I just wanted to make us even. I know about you, so now you know about me.”

“That is exceptionally childish and beneath you.”

“Sorry.”

Snape stood up, removing his long flowing teaching robe and hanging it on the coat stand, before casting a neat little spell on the many buttons of his frock coat that caused them all to unfasten at once. He removed the coat and hung it next to his robes. He returned to the sofa whilst unbuttoning the cuffs of his white shirt and rolling his sleeves to just under his elbows. Hermione was struck by the pale whiteness of the exposed skin of his forearms, and could not help noticing the Dark Mark, almost alive, a writhing black tattoo stark against his alabaster skin. 

He sat down, leaning right back into the corner of the sofa in an almost casual pose, and loosened his collar. 

“Damn you, Granger. Now I want to know.”

“Viktor Krum. The summer after the Tri-Wizard tournament. I went to visit him in Bulgaria. It was only the one time.”

“That summer you would have been only fourteen years old.”

“Correct. Although nearly fifteen. But I wasn’t ready. It wasn’t an enjoyable experience.”

Snape’s face turned angry.

“Krum forced himself upon you?”

“No! Not like that. I was willing, I suppose. He was eighteen, just finished at Durmstrang, and he was just so much older and more experienced than me. Kissing turned into something more and I just went with it, I suppose. I didn’t enjoy it. We haven’t remained in contact since.”

“He was unskilled?”

“I never really found out.”

Snape’s mouth curled into a vicious and self-satisfied smirk.

“These boys. They do not understand the importance of adequate preparation.”

“And you do?”

“I am theoretically prepared, Granger.”

The conversation waned, both embarrassed by discussing such a personal subject. Hermione cast her eye over him, for it was a novel experience seeing him clothed in something other than head-to-toe black. Drawn to the Dark Mark, she could not help but stare at it. 

“May I look closer?”

He did not answer, but shifted his position on the sofa and presented her with his left forearm, soft side up, revealing the brand fully to her. It looked like the most intricate tattoo, clearly inked with magic, not needles. Most unexpected of all, the snake and the skull seemed to be moving, almost breathing or pulsing, writhing around his pale skin like a leech. It must make his flesh crawl. 

“May I touch it?”

He paused, and looked at her face. 

“As you wish.”

She took hold of his large hand in her small one, pulling his forearm towards her. With the other hand she let her fingertips approach, feeling him flinch at the first touch of the Mark. Keeping her touch gentle, Hermione traced around the lines of the Mark, relieved to find that it felt like nothing but skin, soft and warm. He made a small moaning noise.

“Does it hurt?”

“It can do. It is keyed to the moods and whims of the Dark Lord. However, your touch ... does not hurt.”

“Should I stop?”

His breathing became heavy, and his expression turned darkly to one of guilt – and of desire. 

“No.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do not wish to die without having truly lived. For a very long time now I have been able to successfully convince myself that I did not care, that my life counted for naught. But you ... this time I spend with you, you have given me hope that there may be the slightest chance I could fulfil my desire.”

Chapter 9

Supporting his upturned wrist with one hand, Hermione used the fingertips of the other to stroke and caress the smooth skin of his inner forearm. She traced the lines of the Dark Mark, but also began a firm stroke of the entire area, lavishing attention on what she presumed to be neglected skin. His eyes had partly closed and his breathing was deep and even. His skin was so soft, so warm, untouched. She wondered if he realised he was emitting an occasional pleasured noise as she touched him. 

“You want to have sex.”

His eyes flew open at her words. 

“That is not entirely correct, Miss Granger,” he replied, coolly, his neutral face giving nothing away, but she had been inside his mind, and suspected the neutrality was only a mask, so pushed ahead, regardless. 

“You want to have sex ... with me.”

He sighed heavily in acquiescence, not pulling his arm from her grasp but allowing her to continue with her gentle ministrations. 

“Whether that is true or not has no bearing on our situation. It is forbidden.”

“Do you want to know what I think?”

“I have no doubt you are going to tell me.”

She gave him a small smile. He was getting the measure of her, finally. 

“I think that you are sick and tired of denying your own needs. You feel like you are nothing but a pawn in the Headmaster’s endgame, a part of his plan, the same plan that he keeps pressing upon Harry in these secret lessons they are having.”

“You could not possibly know this.”

“I could not know ... unless I had been inside your head and seen your thoughts, and your fears. Whatever this is,” she said, waving a hand between the two of them, “and whether or not it is appropriate, I believe that I have seen your heart.”

He gently pulled his arm from her and leaned back against the solid back of the sofa. 

“You are very bold, Miss Granger.”

She clasped her hands in her lap, atop her crossed legs and was silent, wanting him to continue. After a short while, his shoulders dropped in resignation. 

“I do not wish to die without having truly lived. For a very long time now I have been able to successfully convince myself that I did not care, that my life counted for naught. But you ... this time I spend with you, you have given me hope that there may be the slightest chance I could fulfil my desire.”

“You can. I am willing.”

She lifted her chin and fixed him with a determined gaze. 

“Your willingness, and indeed your bravery, is commendable. However, I am your professor and you are my student. What you are proposing is unethical and forbidden.”

“And creating fatal potions is not?”

He stared at her, quite unable to believe her bluntness, every nerve ending in his body wanting to believe that her simple statement was correct. She certainly had a point. He had damned himself to hell in his ‘service’ to the Dark Lord anyway. Why the hell should he take the moral high ground over this particular sin, when he could just add it to the list?

“I want to touch you again,” he growled, feeling his steely resolve begin to crumble under her gentle persuasion and reassurance. 

“I want that too. I want to feel the results of the ... adequate preparation that you spoke of. It is not something I have had the pleasure of experiencing before. Viktor did not take the time, and my own efforts have so far proved ... fruitless.”

Hermione smiled, sheepishly, feeling embarrassed at her admission, but excited at the same time, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at her. 

“Are you trying to tell me that you have never achieved completion, either with another or by your own hand?”

“Never,” she blushed.

“Pardon me for my ignorance, Miss Granger, but seeing as you are already of age, how can that even be possible? Young witches and wizards are notoriously … active.”

“I have only had one sexual experience, Professor, and as I have already said, Viktor was rather more interested in his own pleasure than mine. As for my own hand, may I remind you that I attend a boarding school, where I share a dormitory, certainly not suitable a place for experimenting. In the few weeks a year I spend at home, the occasional practice session has thus far failed to yield results.”

Snape drew in a sharp breath, appearing to be tussling with his own thoughts. Hermione did not need Legilimency to see that he was conflicted between what he wanted, and the danger of taking it. 

At length, he stood, towering above her, extending his hand to her without a word. 

She took it, liking the dry, slightly rough feel of his skin against hers. He pulled her to standing, and led her across the office towards one of the closed doors she had noticed previously when first entering the room. He pushed it open, and they both entered his bedchamber. 

Gulping down what she hoped was a discreet lungful of air, she looked around the bedroom, which was gloomy, but not in an unpleasant way. He lit the wall sconces and shot an Incendio at the fireplace, conjuring a fire that both heated the room, and brightened it with a golden glow that threw their shadows against the wall in the semi-darkness. 

There were a few pieces of heavy furniture about the room; a wardrobe, a tall chest of drawers, a freestanding cheval mirror and a large armchair made from battered black leather that looked well-worn and comfortable. A small door in the wall must lead through to a bathroom, she supposed. There were no portraits on the walls, nor wizarding photographs on the surfaces. In contrast, her own bedside table was covered in framed photos of her parents and candid snaps of her friends. It looked … lonely. 

The bed was very large, much larger than the singles the students had in the dormitories, and made of dark brown wood with knotholes all over. It was four-poster, like all the other beds in Hogwarts, and dressed with heavy forest-green damask curtains and canopy. There were many pillows in white linen, white sheets folded back at the top, tucked over a matching green eiderdown. 

He led her to stand next to the bed, turning her to face him. She looked up. 

Snape was looking down his long, hooked nose at her, his nostrils flaring with the effort of his deep breaths and his black-as-ink eyes seemed as if they were attempting to bore into her soul. She was completely nervous, but utterly aroused, even by his mere physical presence. 

“This is what you want?” he asked, gruffly. 

She nodded, not trusting herself with words.

“No one ... can know.”

“I understand that.”

“Take off your knickers.”

His quiet, simple request sent a wave of excitement straight to the pit of her stomach. Hermione reached under her skirt and slipped her underwear down her legs without revealing too much, hoicking them off over her socks and shoes.   
“I was under the impression that all Gryffindor regalia had been left in the classroom.”

Professor Snape looked down at the scarlet-red knickers in her hand, a smile playing around the corners of his lips, before taking them from her and placing them on his bedside cabinet, before backing her up a step until her knees were touching the side of the bed.

“Lay down.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and then leant back until her head touched the covers, her upper body enveloped and comforted by the luxuriant eiderdown beneath her. 

Severus looked down at the young witch flat on her back on his bed, feeling a rapid swelling in the front of his trousers, not quite believing what she had asked him to do, nor that he’d agreed to do it. 

The sexual arousal that was beginning to course like fire through his veins was so powerful that he had remarkably little trouble sweeping away his feelings of guilt, and the sheer idiocy of what they had decided. He would no doubt deal with those, later. 

“Raise your knees and put your feet on the bed.”

She scooted back a tiny bit before doing as he’d instructed, her skirt falling down her thighs and exposing her bare arse cheeks, her legs held tightly together. He cared not that her shoes were now atop his clean bedlinen. The swelling was now becoming a full erection, straining for release from the unforgiving crotch of his black tailored trousers. He summoned a plain wooden chair from the side of the room, it was normally somewhere he occasionally draped clothing, or a used bath towel. He set the chair at the side of the bed, facing Miss Granger’s legs. He sat down, and attempted to control his own ragged breathing. 

He knew his anatomy, and by fucking Merlin he had viewed and read enough wizarding porn that he should be a sexual master, but as proved the other day, the practical execution was entirely different. 

“Open your legs, Miss Granger,” he instructed, hearing her gasp and hoping it was from pleasure and anticipation, rather than fear. 

Severus watched her slowly open her legs and allow her knees to fall to the sides, and there it was, her most private place exposed for his viewing pleasure. Her dark pubic hair was sparse, and he was afforded an almost unobstructed view of her genitals. He nearly came, spunked right there and then, in his trousers at the sight of her spread open before him. 

Resisting the desire to run his hands sensuously up her smooth thighs, this was, after all, an agreed learning experience and not a romantic encounter, he headed straight for her pussy, stroking the smooth outer lips with his fingertips, and she bucked her hips instantly at his touch. 

“Relax, Granger.”

He slipped his thumbs inside the fleshy lips and pulled them gently apart to find her inner labia flushed and pink. Holy fuck, he could look upon this sight forever and not get bored. He allowed one long finger to stroke down the centre and was rewarded with a gasp from her, so he did it again, watching her vagina begin to open, involuntarily. Was she getting wet already? The thought was fucking arousing. 

Gaining more confidence, he slid his thumbs up and spread her labia further to the sides, ensuring that he reached under the hood and lifted it to expose her clitoris to the cool air of his bedchamber, approvingly observing as the small bud twitched. Holding her open to his scrutiny, he wanted nothing more than to lean forward and sink his greasy head deep into her cunt, to unfurl his sharp tongue inside her and lick her lush pinkness from top to bottom. 

Noticing a slight roll of her hips, as if she were urging him to touch her, Severus reached out a finger and rubbed the tiniest of circles upon her clit, which drew a long groan from her that she tried to stifle.

“Do not hold yourself back. It will impede your orgasm. I have no objection to any noise you may make.”

With his words he continued to rub her clitoris, increasing the speed and pressure slightly, and was gratified to hear her groan again, louder this time, and she covered her face with her hands. He would allow that, for now. For now. 

He dipped his other hand lower and toyed with the entrance to her vagina, rubbing a finger in the small pool of moisture that had gathered there. He was arousing her. He really was. He, Severus Snape, had a witch keening in arousal at his touch. 

Her clit was hardening under his touch, so he changed his movements, taking hold of the swollen bud and rolling it between his thumb and index finger. The girl cried out and bucked her hips, as if trying to shake out her orgasm, clearly not knowing what to do with the new and intense feelings. How on earth had Granger not done this before? She was seventeen, for fuck’s sake. What the bloody hell had she been doing with her time? 

He began to agitate her clitoris more insistently, tapping the tip with his pointer finger as he continued to roll it around.

“Fuck! Sir ... I don’t ... I’m going to ... I think ...”

She was breathless and panting, her little hips hopping around on his bed.

“Yes, you are going to come. Just let it happen.”

Not ceasing his masturbation of her sensitive clit, he watched her lift her hips a final time and she went rigid as her first ever orgasm hit her, copious amounts of fluid leaking from her vagina and her entire labia pulsing with the strength of her climax. He held her open so that he could observe every delicious contraction that his own hand had elicited, about ready to come himself, he was so fucking aroused. 

Once his eyes had drunk their fill, he removed his hands from her and watched as she slid her hands away from her face and met his eyes for the first time. 

“Oh my god,” she trembled, in a much smaller voice than he was used to hearing from her. 

“Indeed.”

Hermione felt entirely wrung out, but in the most delicious way. Fucking hell, if she’d known an orgasm could feel that good she’d have been trying harder all these years. She watched as Professor Snape got to his feet, pushing the chair away and lowering his hands to the belt of his trousers, unfastening it, undoing the button at his waist, pulling down the zip and letting the trousers drop to the floor. She heard the thud of his belt buckle against the flagstones. 

He continued to hold her gaze as he reached inside the black material of his undershorts, as if assessing what was contained within. 

“Are you completely certain you wish to proceed?”

Hermione wasn’t sure she could formulate a coherent answer at that point, but given that all she was currently feeling was an emptiness that was desperate to be filled, there would be no answer but yes. She merely nodded, realising too late that it wasn’t the most encouraging answer she could have given him, seeing as it was his first time.

He pulled his cock from his shorts, and she was graced with a brief glimpse of it standing erect and proud, far more impressive than Viktor’s had been. Severus Snape was definitely a grown wizard. 

Severus stood with his erection at full mast, inches away from ridding himself of his virginity forever. He took his wand from his sleeve and cast a contraceptive charm over her abdomen, and then a modified Engorgio upon the bed, raising it up higher so that Granger’s hips were level with his own. He did not wish to ask her to change position, and theirs was not the kind of arrangement where they would be tumbling about the bed with one another. 

Placing his wand on the bedside table, he took his penis in hand and guided it towards her spread legs, lining the head up with her opening, enjoying even the initial feel of her softness touching him. He pushed it a little way inside, so just the mushroom head was inserted, and already felt like passing out from the pleasure. Once the head was securely inside, he let go of his cock, and placed his large hands on either side of her narrow hips, taking a single deep breath ... and thrust. 

He crammed his cock fully inside her, as deep as it was possible to be. 

Fucking holy hell, he had never felt anything like this in his entire miserable life. 

Granger was hot, wet and tight, and all of it was clamped around his invading prick. For a moment, he was not able to do anything but stand there, balls deep inside a witch for the first time ever, but then he was struck with the urge to move, to undulate his hips back and forth, to stroke himself in and out of her. 

Hermione watched him unabashedly as he found his rhythm. He was certainly nothing like Viktor Krum, who was fast becoming a distant memory with every thrust of her professor’s cock. His strong hands were gripping her sides, pulling her hips down to sheath him, and the sheer size of him was stretching her inner walls in the most incredible way. She was suddenly very glad she hadn’t been a virgin.

“Miss Granger,” he bit out, from between clenched teeth. “I am afraid ... this will ... not take long.”

“It doesn’t matter, Sir.”

At her words, he appeared to give himself permission to lose hold of his legendary self-control. His hips sped up, thrusting harder and faster than before, and his eyes were shuttered closed, his thin black hair sticking to his face in sweaty strands, his teeth gnashing with the effort of fucking her. 

Snape suddenly let out a loud cry that sounded more like shout of despair than ecstasy, giving a final flurry of hard, sharp thrusts, and he came, spurting hot liquid inside her that began to leak out as he continued to push himself in and out, thrusting hard through his orgasm before starting to slow his pace. 

When he had stilled completely, he gently slid his softened penis from inside her, and Hermione immediately mourned the loss of him. He picked up his wand and cast a cleansing charm over both of them before tucking his cock back inside his shorts and pulling up his trousers. He turned away from her to fasten them. She sat up, pulling her skirt back down over her legs before standing, as she was otherwise still dressed. 

Severus had no fucking idea what to do now. They had completed their transaction. He was no longer a virgin, and she had achieved her first orgasm. Now that the blood was returning to the rest of his body, including most crucially his brain, he could not help but wonder where the hell this left the two of them now. He could surely not continue to provide her with private tutoring, as there was no way this episode could ever be repeated. 

He snuck a look at her through a lank curtain of raven hair; she looked awkward and was smoothing down her clothing, preparing to leave - no doubt the full horror that she had just fucked her professor was dawning on her. The girl must be desperate to be anywhere but here, with him. 

He indicated with a wave of his hand that she should follow him back through to his office. 

Once there, he whirled around to face her, hands firmly in his pockets lest he be overcome by the need to clutch her to him and beg her to stay. 

“Miss Granger,” he began, keeping his voice neutral, “no doubt you wish to leave now.”

It was a statement of fact, not a question. 

“I suppose so, Sir.”

“Do you remember my warning?”

She nodded.

“No one can know.”

“That is correct.”

“Thank you, Professor. I ... enjoyed it.”

“Thank you, Miss Granger. Good night.”

“Good night, Sir.”

He stood listening until he heard the outer door of the Defence classroom close behind her, before heading back to his bedchamber and immediately noting the pair of scarlet knickers on his bedside cabinet. Hating himself, he snatched them up and threw himself on his huge bed, holding the sweet-smelling underwear to his nose with nothing on his mind apart from the erotic thought of Miss Granger walking back to Gryffindor Tower bare-arsed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She could not have slept without knowing that Professor Snape had returned safely from wherever it was that he had been called to, now that she had seen so clearly that the wizard had no one else to care.

Chapter 10

Hermione creaked open the door to the Gryffindor sixth-year girls dormitory, hoping to find Parvati and Lavender already asleep. Main curfew had already passed, but her own prefects’ curfew still had another half hour to go. Of course, she had no such luck. The two girls were sprawled on Parvati’s bed in their night clothes, a copy of Witch Weekly open between them, and they were giggling madly at something contained within the brightly coloured pages. 

Both young witches stopped laughing, and looked up at her as she entered the dorm, and Hermione cursed herself that she had not bothered to put her uniform jumper and tie back on, and just roughly shoved them into her bookbag as she hot-footed it out of his classroom. 

She’d been more bothered about the fact that she had left her knickers in Professor Snape’s bedroom, something she had discovered about a dozen steps down the corridor as an errant draught swept around her thighs. Worrying about exposing her naked bum, she had given no thought to the dishevelled state the rest of her now appeared to be in. It was only a jumper and tie, but since Hermione Granger was well known to always ensure that she appeared in regulation uniform at all times, it was enough to arouse the suspicions of the two girls, who could sniff out gossip with the skill of bloodhounds. 

“Been running, Hermione?” Lavender asked her, a catty tone to her voice. 

Hermione gave her a withering look, and turned to attend her chest of drawers to procure a pair of pyjamas. She would go into their adjoining bathroom to wash and change. 

Unfortunately that had been the wrong thing to do. She heard whispering behind her, and immediately spun around to face her dorm mates.

“Was there something?” she demanded, crossly, although Lavender was already off the bed and walking towards her, like a hunting animal stalking its prey. 

“Your hair looks even worse than usual, Granger,” she teased, “almost as if it had spent the last few hours being fucked into a mattress.”

Parvati reached out a hand and grabbed a handful of the flattened, bushy mess on the back of Hermione’s head. It was knotted and tangled, clearly the result of laying on her back for an extended time whilst Professor Snape had been …

Oh fuck. 

These witches didn’t miss a trick. 

Parvati kept a vicious hold on her hair and spun her around to face Lavender, who took it upon herself to undertake a visual inspection. 

“Your neck is flushed, your pupils are dilated and your shirt is all creased.” 

She ran a long fingernail down Hermione’s cheek, satisfied with her unscientific appraisal. 

“You better not have been with Ronald.”

Hermione looked at her incredulously.

“When would I have had the time?” she spat. “You’ve always got him locked within kissing distance, like a co-dependent limpet.”

“So you mean you would, if I wasn’t around?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Lavender was too thick to pick up on the insult. 

“No, you stupid bimbo. I was just pointing out it would have been impossible for me to be with Ron without your knowledge, since you are always with him. Not that I would want to be with him. He and I are just friends, as you well know.”

“So you say, anyway,” hissed Parvati, from behind. 

“Parvati, let go of my hair. I want to get ready for bed.”

They ignored her. 

“So,” said Lavender, as if she was salivating over a particularly juicy steak, “who has been making Hermione Granger’s knickers all wet, I ask myself?”

“Fuck off, Lav. I was in the library.”

“Bullshit. I know a shagged-out face when I see one. Distinct lack of stubble rash though, Granger, nicely done on the snogging front.”

Before Hermione realised what was happening, Lavender had yanked up her skirt, running her hand quickly up her thigh to find her wet underwear to crow over. She was to be disappointed as her hand came into direct contact with uncovered pubic hair. Lavender screamed, and snatched her hand away. 

“Bloody Merlin, you dirty slut! Walking around school with no knickers on! Fucking hell!”

Hermione jerked her hair free of Parvati’s grasp, swept up her pyjamas from the bed, and headed for the bathroom. 

“I told you to mind your own business, girls.”

“Who the fuck have you been shagging, Hermione?”

“Like I would tell either of you,” she retorted, disdainfully, shutting the connecting door, and distinctly hearing Lavender exclaim that it was always the quiet ones that were the sluttiest. 

Being in the locked bathroom gave Hermione space to breathe. She looked in the mirror, and her hair was indeed a fright, so she wet her hands and began to dampen down the frizz. It needed a good wash and condition, but that could wait until the morning, she was exhausted. 

Cleaning her teeth, she found it curious that she didn’t feel the least regretful, despite the fact she had just had sex with the castle’s most dangerous teacher, taking the wizard’s long-overdue virginity, no less. Her body was still churning after the all-consuming climax he had brought her to with his skilful, searching fingers. 

She had no idea what would happen next, if anything at all. 

\- xxx –

Severus awoke, and for a split-second, all was well. Then reality hit. 

There was an ache in his cock that was being stretched by a stupendous piece of morning wood, standing tall and awaiting attention as if it hadn’t been fucked to within an inch of its life the previous evening. He snatched up his wand and shot a spell at his traitorous prick to douse its enthusiasm, he did not have time for that this morning. 

He had seduced and fucked a student. He had broken every ethical and moral rule in the teachers’ code of conduct. He was a pathetic excuse for an educator. 

However. 

Unless Miss Granger decided to make a complaint, and this seemed unlikely since it had been her idea in the first place, it seemed he may well get away with it, and whilst he did not approve of his actions, Severus had to admit that being forced to leave his job in disgrace was not exactly what he needed at the moment. He would simply have to ensure that it never, ever happened again. 

He would distance himself from the girl, cancelling her private lessons since it had been proved that he could not control himself around her, and behaving in exactly the same manner towards her as he did the other students. He should be heartily embarrassed by the way he had behaved, thinking with his dick and not his brain. He would add it to his list of flaws that made him such a failure as a human being. 

Thankfully, he did not have the sixth years for Defence class today, which left only mealtimes where he might see her. Breakfast and lunch could be managed, as he would take these in his chambers, and by dinner time he had no doubt that he would have better control of his runaway emotions. He felt fourteen, not almost forty.

You stupid fucking bastard, he thought. 

He would not allow himself to remember how transcendent it had felt to fuck her. 

\- xxx - 

Hermione had saved places for Harry, Ron and Ginny at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, the general hubbub of dinner chatter echoing off the walls. The food had not yet been served, so she occupied herself with ‘The Standard Books of Spells, Grade Six’ whilst sipping pumpkin juice from her goblet. 

She was surprised when a boy slunk in beside her, who was most definitely not Ron, or Harry. 

“Granger,” drawled Cormac McLaggen, slipping his arm around her, “I have a proposal for you.”

She wriggled her shoulders to try and shrug off his arm, but he seemed blind to her efforts.

“Slughorn’s Christmas party, Granger. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting mightily sick of being harassed by girls who want me to take them as my partner. I’m sure you’ve having the same, well, not with girls though.”

Cormac gave a sickly laugh at his own joke, as if he had said something terribly funny. 

“So what say we go together? Piss them all off? I’d be more than happy to have you on my arm, Granger.”

He began to trace small circles on her shoulder with his meaty fingers, which far from being alluring, actually made her flesh creep. There was a sudden noise from the doorway that made them both look up, and Ron and Lavender entered, joined at the mouth as always, before being admonished by Professor McGonagall for inappropriate behaviour in the Great Hall. 

Hermione had been intending to take Ron to the party, but remembering Lavender’s attitude the previous evening, it would probably be far more trouble than it was worth. 

There was no denying that McLaggen was popular amongst the older girls, and mostly likely several of the younger ones, too. Tall, broad and handsome with curly dark-blond hair and a strong jawline that reeked of aristocratic breeding, it was just a shame his personality was that of a bad-mannered, horny Erumpent in the height of mating season. She suspected that Lavender fancied him too, but then, she fancied anything in trousers. 

So Hermione made her decision. She needed to take someone to the party, and McLaggen was going anyway. How bad could it be? Turning fully around to face him, causing his heavy arm to fall from her shoulders, she smiled. 

“Actually, Cormac, that sounds like a great idea. Why not?”

“Why not, indeed,” he drawled, a self-satisfied smirk crawling across his face. “I’ll be looking forward to getting to know you an awful lot better, Granger. Make sure you wear something pretty. I won’t disappoint you.”

He leaned forward and placed a long, wet kiss on her cheek, as if he were sealing a promise of delights to come, and swaggered back to his place further down the Gryffindor table with the other seventh-years, receiving a few high-fives. Clearly, they had all known what he had planned to do. 

“Mr McLaggen, please refrain from accosting Miss Granger, there will be no kissing in the middle of the dining hall. Five points from Gryffindor!”

McGonagall’s strident tones had rung shrilly out across the Great Hall, drawing everyone’s attention, and her face burned. 

Cormac had only laughed, proud of himself, loudly crowing that it had been ‘worth the five points’. Hermione had smiled too, but only because of the look on Lavender Brown’s face as she and Ron had sat down opposite, as if she were sucking on a raw Ashwinder egg. It would be worth spending an evening with McLaggen, if it pissed off her dorm-mate. Lavender had been a complete bitch last night. And at least Cormac was good looking. 

It wasn’t until she glanced up at high table, where the professors were seated, to see the look of jealous fury upon Professor Snape’s face, that she regretted her decision.

As the puddings were being served, Hermione saw Snape rise, from the corner of her eye, a black shadow heading towards the Slytherin table. He jerked his head to indicate that Malfoy should follow him, although Draco had already been getting to his feet, and the two of them walked briskly down the side of the Great Hall and out of the main entrance. As the heavy doors closed behind them, Hermione distinctly saw Draco clutch at his left arm in pain. They had been summoned. 

\- xxx –

Severus stood in rank with the other Death Eaters, dampening down every thought in his cluttered mind that did not pertain to the service of the Dark Lord. It was being discussed how to break out their members that were currently being held in Azkaban after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, Draco’s father among them. 

“How long will it be before the Dementors can be fully turned, My Lord?” called out Macnair, “once we secure their loyalty, they can release any one we choose from Azkaban.”

Voldemort had turned to face him, anger in his slit-like eyes. 

“You speak out of turn, Walden. Our work with the Dementors is ongoing, as you well know. And they will release anyone whom I choose, not we.”

Macnair was hit with a Crucio before he had time to apologise. The short, ugly Death Eater was forced to the floor, his body constricting with the application of Cruciatus. The Dark Lord did not release the curse until he heard the first bone snap. 

“Severus.”

Shit. 

“Lord Voldemort appreciates that yourself and Draco are unable to participate fully in this discussion, since you are both obliged to be within Hogwarts. However, I would not wish for your journey here tonight to have been in vain, so come. Tell me how your work progresses.”

Severus knelt before Voldemort and allowed him to Legilimise into his mind, Occluding strongly. 

“I do not see anything here that will assist our cause, Severus. I am disappointed. As yet you have not been able to tell me where Dumbledore goes, all the times when he has been absent from the school this year.”

“I am sorry my Lord. I will continue to do my best to find the information that you have requested.”

“A likely story,” jeered Bellatrix. “He’s too happy sitting pretty and comfortable at Hogwarts, while the rest of us do the dirty work.”

He fucking hated this insane bitch. Just die, he thought. 

“Is that true, Severus? Do you rest on your laurels within the school whilst your brothers here toil in my service?”

“Not at all, My Lord.”

Voldemort pointed his wand at Severus’ face, sending a petulant slicing curse that slashed him from his forehead to chin, hitting his cheek on the way down and narrowly missing his eye. He did not lift his hand to stem the flow, but stood straight and resolute before the Dark Lord, his own blood dripping down his face, into his mouth and down his neck, accepting his punishment. 

“You will find out where Dumbledore goes, won’t you, Severus?”

“I will, My Lord.”

There was a collective gasp from the assembled audience as a dangerous black tendril of thick smoke sped between them with the speed of a cyclone, pushing them out of the way and transforming itself into a magical whip and thrashing Severus once across the back, with enough force to knock him to the floor with a sickening thud. 

“What was that you said, Severus? Lord Voldemort did not quite hear you.”

“I will find out immediately, My Lord, and report back to you. I understand that the information is imperative.”

“Much better.” 

The insane bastard allowed the smoky whip to thrash him once more whilst he was crouched on the floor, all the wind knocked out of him. No doubt it had broken the skin on his back, even through his layers of clothing.

“Take Professor Snape back to Hogwarts, young Draco, and be grateful that I have not called upon you to document your progress tonight.”

Draco did not need to be told twice, and yanked Severus to his feet, pulling him out of the room, through the main hallway and out of the front door of his family home. As they walked down the gravel path towards the main gates, Severus shook himself free of Draco’s grip; no matter how sick with pain he felt, he did not wish to be supported by the little shit that was currently causing him so many problems. 

\- xxx - 

Hermione had secreted herself in a hidden alcove above the entrance hallway. She could not have slept without knowing that Professor Snape had returned safely from wherever it was that he had been called to, now that she had seen so clearly that the wizard had no one else to care. She had brought along a book, preparing herself for a long wait, and was using a Lumos to read, a tiny beam of light cast from the end of her wand. 

Hours, and two serious foot cramps later, not to mention well past curfew, she heard the enormous main doors open, and she doused her light, twitching the curtain back just a fraction to spy on whoever had just entered the castle. 

It was them. 

Draco looked grey-faced and actually terrified, but apparently uninjured. She heard Snape order him to bed with a stern growl, clearly brooking no argument. When he turned into the light, she could see one side of his face covered in blood, and he was walking as if his back was hurting. He began to head towards the Defence corridor, before seeming to change his mind, turning completely around and walking in the other direction. He must be heading towards the hospital wing. 

She had two floors and an uninjured body on him; she could easily get there first. Hermione sped off as silently as possible towards the infirmary, pushing open the door of the silent, empty ward to find Madam Pomfrey in her office. Did that witch ever sleep? 

“Miss Granger. Are you ill? What are you doing out of bed this time of night?”

“Period pain, Madam Pomfrey. It’s really bad, I can’t sleep.”

“Do you not have a painkilling potion in your dormitory?”

“I don’t, I’m sorry, I ran out. I wanted to wait until morning, but this pain is making me feel quite sick,” she whined, clutching a hand to her stomach for additional veracity. 

“Merlin save us from the trials of being a witch. Very well, dear. Come and sit on this bed and I shall fetch you a pain potion.”

Whilst the Medi-witch was measuring the dose she would need for Hermione’s height and weight, the door to the infirmary opened with a crash, as she knew it would, and Madam Pomfrey looked up, her face turning pinched and worried as she saw Professor Snape heading up the ward, lurching and bloody.

“Excuse me, Miss Granger. An urgent case.”

“That’s no problem, Madam Pomfrey. Go right ahead, I’ll wait here.”

Hermione settled herself down on the metal-framed hospital bed and Pomfrey pulled the curtains around her, leaving her in an excellent position for unobserved eavesdropping. Her mother would be unimpressed at her lack of good manners. 

“Severus!” she heard Pomfrey exclaim, “what on earth has happened this time?”

“I can heal my face,” he growled, crossly, “I only need you for my back. Magical whip.”

Hermione heard the sound of clothing being removed, followed by Madam Pomfrey’s sharp intake of breath.

“Merlin, Severus!”

“Just heal it. I cannot see to do so.”

“I will heal it. I just want to clean your face first. Then you can heal it yourself if you wish, or you can allow me to do it, since that is my job. Bloody hell, you are lucky to still have your eye!”

There was no more talking beyond the odd muttered oath of pain, or a whispered instruction from the Medi-witch. As Hermione lay there, her eyes were filled with tears for his silent and stoical acceptance of the treatment that had been heaped upon him. Torture that the headmaster knew was happening, and allowed to happen. 

“Stay on your front, Severus. Those wounds are knitting together. You won’t be going anywhere for a good hour yet, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. Wait here, I have another patient I must quickly attend to.”

Hermione heard the swish of the curtains as Pomfrey left Snape’s cubicle, and another swish as she entered hers. 

“Miss Granger! I am so sorry. An urgent case takes priority. Oh, you poor lamb, I know you are in pain, but don’t cry. This potion will soon take effect.”

Pomfrey passed Hermione the dose of pain potion and she took it quickly. It was harmless, even though she didn’t really need it, and she wiped the brimming tears from her eyes. 

“By the time you have walked back to Gryffindor Tower the pain will be gone, I promise.”

“I know. Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.”

“You are welcome, dear. Off you go.” 

The Medi-witch pulled back the curtains that had been around the bed, and headed back to her office, closing the door behind her. Hermione was desperate to go and see the professor, but knew there was no realistic way she could do that. She began to walk up the centre of the ward towards the door. 

“Nice try, Granger.”

His deep, instantly recognisable voice came from behind his curtains. She grinned, and continued walking.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And this, Miss Granger,” he growled, “is why I cannot be trusted to be alone with you.”

Chapter 11

Hermione was concerned, but not altogether surprised, to see Professor Snape standing at the front of the DADA classroom the following afternoon, glaring at the entering sixth-year Gryffindor Slytherin class in his usual sullen, imperious way, as if he hated them all. 

From what she had overhead in the hospital wing the previous evening, he had been seriously hurt, injured enough for him to have sought help from Madam Pomfrey, and for the Medi-witch to have detained him in the school infirmary. And yet today he was standing ready to teach a class, as if nothing untoward had occurred? No wonder he always looked so annoyed, the man must be in considerable pain. 

She snuck a look at Malfoy, who had slid himself into a desk across the classroom uncharacteristically quietly, as if he were hoping not be noticed. She watched him raise his blonde head to the front, meeting the eye of his professor and they exchanged a quick, but tense, look. Draco undoubtedly knew what had happened to Snape the previous evening, and he looked guilty and uncomfortable. 

Snape bade them to open their books, smoothly beginning the lesson by announcing that they would be revisiting shield charms, since many of them had proved so inept at the previous lesson. Shield charms, he explained, were a witch or wizard’s front line of urgent defence when finding themselves at the end of an unfriendly wand. 

“It is imperative that every one of you is proficient in this skill,” he told the assembled students in a low, urgent tone. “To enter battle without the capability to cast a basic Protego shield around yourself would be tantamount to suicide.”

There were a few audible gasps from the seated students as he paused to allow the impact of his words to sink in. He was warning them. Again. They would be foolish not to heed every single one of his words. 

He cleared the desks to the side with a cursory flick of his wand, causing everyone to leap from their chairs in shock before they themselves were swept to the walls with the furniture, and instructed them to divide themselves into pairs ... with a partner from the opposite house. This command was issued with a slight twist to the side of his mouth, as if he delighted in watching the discomfort of the students. 

Hermione didn’t care. She would far rather throw a jinx at a Slytherin than at Ron, or Harry, or especially poor Neville. Although ... sending a catty little hex at Lavender Brown might provide some satisfaction at the given time, as her dorm-mate’s behaviour continued to be bitchy and annoying. 

The atmosphere in the classroom was awkward and no one was making a move to find a partner. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and crossed the room towards the assembled group of Slytherin boys. 

“Come on then, Malfoy,” she invited, with a moderate degree of threat, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up into his improbably blonde hairline, for a second his nonchalant demeanour slipping, being replaced by a look of slight panic. 

“Like I’m going to partner you, Granger,” he spat. 

“You have a partner, Mr Malfoy,” Snape called from the teaching dais. “Step up, boy. And the same for the rest of you. Partner up immediately and begin as you have been instructed, unless you wish to see your housepoints fall.”

The others followed her lead, Gryffindors mostly approaching the unwilling Slytherins, rather than the other way around, she was pleased to note. Harry and Ron had partnered with Crabbe and Goyle, and she had no doubt they would wipe the floor with each of them, given their DA training. 

“I’ll jinx you first, shall I, Granger?” 

There was an evil gleam in Draco’s eye, and his thin mouth was curled in a nasty smirk. 

“By all means, Malfoy.”

I’m ready for you, you cowardly little shit.

“Tantallegra!”

“Protego!”

She easily repelled his first jinx, a nasty little spell designed to cause exhaustion and humiliation by making the victim dance endlessly. Her shield was strong, complete, and the jinx bounced straight off the shimmering surface.   
He now looked concerned, as it was her turn to cast. 

“Densaugeo!”

Hermione had not forgotten the hex he had cast on her in third year, causing her front teeth to grow at an alarming rate, leaving her looking like a ridiculous human beaver, and it was no coincidence she had selected this spell for her first attempt. Draco got his shield up just in time, although his Protego had been a weaker cast than hers, and she saw him lift his hand to his mouth as if he had experienced a brief snap of pain in his front teeth. 

Nearly got you there.

“You’ll need to do better than that, Malfoy. Who knows when you might find yourself on the end of an ... unfriendly wand.”

He stepped towards her, leaning forwards so that no one could hear his words, so close that his nose was almost in her hair. 

“Fuck you, Granger. I’m not even trying. This class is a waste of my time.”

She made no acknowledgement that his words had rattled her, and instead settled herself into a defensive position, ready for his next cast. 

At the end of the lesson, almost every student was reliably performing a Protego, although a few still needed help, and Millicent Bulstrode had been sent to the hospital wing with an unstoppable nosebleed after failing to block a bat-bogey hex from Dean Thomas. Clearly her fellow Gryffindor had learnt that from his girlfriend. Bat-bogeys were Ginny’s speciality. 

The desks were returned to their original positions with a flick of Snape’s wand, and their books were packed away as they made to depart for their respective common rooms, this having been the final lesson of the day. 

“Miss Granger, a word before you leave, please,” Snape said, quietly, beckoning her curtly to approach his desk. 

“What have you done?” Harry asked her, concerned. 

“No idea. Although Malfoy was whispering abuse in my ear the whole time we were practising, no doubt that will end up being my fault.”

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Probably. What a git. As if something could ever be precious Malfoy’s fault. We’ll wait for you in the common room, ok? Come as soon as you can.”

“Don’t be silly. Go down to dinner, I’ll meet you there.”

“Thanks Hermione,” Ron added gratefully, chivvying Harry out before she could change her mind and delay the start of his evening feed. 

She watched her friends depart, and walked up to Snape’s desk as the final person left the room. 

“Sir?”

He lifted his head from the book he had been studying, shaking his long hair back from his face where it had fallen into his eyes as he bent forward, most likely watching the students exit through the black curtain. 

“For what reason did you find it necessary to follow me to the infirmary last night, Miss Granger?”

“I didn’t follow you there, Sir. I was there first.”

He raised a dangerous eyebrow to indicate that he did not believe her in the slightest. 

“Are you ok?”

He paused, as if taken aback by her concern. 

“I am ... healing satisfactorily.”

“Will we be having a lesson tonight, Sir? We have one scheduled, but as you are probably in pain, we can postpone.”

She thought they would still be having private lessons after he had fucked her? 

“Miss Granger, I do not think it is appropriate that we continue our private tutorials, after our ... recent interactions.”

“But Sir, I really would like to continue. I find our lessons varied and interesting. I promise to behave myself from now on.”

He regarded her for a short while, not speaking, before rising to his feet and walking around his desk to face her. She was on the raised platform and he was two steps below her on the floor, making their height difference much more equal. He leaned towards her, placing his lips so close to her ear that she could feel the heat of his breath. It felt completely different to when Draco had made the same gesture earlier, that had felt oppressive and threatening, where as this felt ... exquisitely sensual. 

“It is not your behaviour that I am worried about, Granger,” he whispered. 

He drew back and looked at her, allowing her to process the full meaning behind his words. 

“I can handle you,” she replied, defiantly. 

He barked a small, rueful laugh. 

“Your shield charms today were most satisfactory. I watched you successfully repel every jinx that Malfoy cast at you. Potter’s instruction was clearly effective.”

She looked away, guiltily. Of course, he would know everything about the not-so-secret DA meetings. 

“Are you aware how to cast a longer-lasting protective shield?”

That caught her attention. 

“No?”

“Watch.” 

He stepped back and seated himself upon a desk in the first row before casting around himself in an X shape, non-verbally of course. He disappeared, along with the desk. 

What did he just do?

“Send a jinx to where you know I am sitting,” his disembodied voice instructed. 

Her jelly-legs jinx dissipated into thin air, and he re-materialised. 

“What was that?”

“That, Miss Granger, is a protective enchantment that can be used to defend and secrete a hiding place. It cannot be seen, and has the additional benefit that if a spell is fired against it, it will not bounce off as it would from a basic Protego, thus not giving away your hiding place.”

“That is amazing. What is the incantation?”

“It is Cave Inimicum. It is accompanied by the X formation of your wand. If well cast, those on the other side of the shield will not be able to see, hear or touch you.”

“But, I heard you.”

He gave her a disapproving look for her stupidity.

“Because I allowed you to.”

Ah. Of course.

He moved half a dozen desks into a cluster with a swish of his wand.

“Now, cast the shield around everything, both the desks and ourselves. Your wand movement will need to be large to cover the full area.”

Cave Inimicum.

Nothing appeared to happen. 

“How do I know if it has worked?”

“Quite simply, you don’t. There can be a sense of protection, but in reality you can only hope that your casting is sound. Should it be a matter of life and death that you are concealed, it would be wise to cast additional protection. Salvio Hexia, for example, provides a constant protection against magical attack. Protego Totalum gives a more long-lasting and complete shield. You would be wise to cast a disillusionment charm over the entire area to make yourself invisible; and to block sound ...”

“You could use a Muffliato,” she murmured, interrupting him.

Snape regarded her suspiciously.

“How do you know that spell?” he demanded. 

“Harry has an old, second-hand potions textbook. It’s full of scribbles in the margins; I think he found the incantation there. He uses it all the time, its rather annoying actually.”

“I see,” he replied, slowly, curling the syllables on his tongue as if he were considering something. 

“I shall now step outside your shield to see if it is effective.”

It didn’t take more than a split-second for Snape to deconstruct her poorly-cast protective shield, and she looked aghast, making him smirk in amusement.

“You cannot be perfect at everything the first time you attempt it. Allow me to assist you. Copy my wand movements. You must be more definite, more precise, and yet more subtle in your casting.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Despite it being an unwise move, he stepped in behind her, taking hold of her wand hand and settling his fingers around her slim wrist. 

“Relax your grip,” he instructed, quietly, squeezing gently against either side, knowing she would feel the tendons release, and that would soften her grip on her wand. 

“Take your wand up here for the first point of the X, before bringing it down here, and then without breaking the cast, swish it up to the second height – curl it ... like a snake ... like smoke ... unending.”

Professor Snape was whispering urgently against her ear, his voice low and heady, beginning to hypnotise her as he had done before. He was moving her arm with his as he demonstrated the movements over again, as if determined she should understand this. It must be important. As her body moved, so did his, pressed to her back. 

“Cast the incantation now,” he breathed.

“Cave Inimicum.”

Hermione felt a curious wave of protection wash over her. 

“Do you feel that?” he asked, and she nodded. 

“That is the feeling that you will experience when your shield is successfully cast.”

He had not let go of her arm, her back was still pressed against his upper body, and she felt him use the other hand to take hold of the top of her free arm, beginning to lightly squeeze her upper arm. Almost involuntarily, she leaned her head back against him, only a tiny movement, but it was enough to feel a deep sigh resonate from his chest. 

“And this, Miss Granger,” he growled, “is why I cannot be trusted to be alone with you.”

“I don’t care, Sir,” she replied. 

“You should care. These lessons are at an end.”

“No, please ...”

Snape unexpectedly pushed her forwards, bending her at the waist so that her upper body was flat against the desk, and she gasped at the sudden movement, but her stomach lurched with a shot of arousal, forcibly reminded of when he’d been behind her before, and her secret wish that he had done exactly this. 

He wasted no time and flipped her skirt up over her arse, grabbing hold of her knickers and pulling the material hard to one side, dipping his fingers between her lips to search for her entrance. 

Leaning over her, squashing her against the hard surface, she could feel him fumbling with his fly in one hand whilst he hissed hoarsely and desperately in her ear. 

“I need your consent, Miss Granger. I need it now.”

“You have it.”

“You are a fool, girl. As am I. But I cannot resist you.”

Severus straightened up, his hand guiding his cock towards her before finding what he so urgently sought. He pushed inside her, craving the tight heat of her cunt around his invading prick. She felt just as heavenly as he remembered, of course she fucking did.

Holding her hips steady, once he was fully seated inside her, he began to thrust without style or finesse, needing nothing more than to piston into this little witch like an express train that had lost its brakes. He pounded faster and faster, feeling as if he slowed for an instant then she would be snatched from his grasp and his pleasure denied. He had a furious need to mark that which was his, if only for the most brief of moments. 

“Coming ... coming ... fuck,” he bit out, his balls pulsing with the seed that he was about to expel. 

Unnghh. Ohhh. Fucking hell. He had forced his load into her, and her channel was pulsing around his cock, fluttering and contracting, her breathing loud and heavy. 

Had she just come? Had he made her orgasm simply by fucking her?

Severus pulled his dick out of her as quickly as he had shoved it in, casting a cleansing charm upon them both and snapping her knickers back into place before guiding her back to standing upright and turning her around. Belatedly, he sent a contraceptive spell to her abdomen, and finally, cancelled her excellent shield charm that had thankfully would have concealed their actions to anyone who may have visited the classroom unexpectedly. 

“Still think you can handle me, Miss Granger?”

The girl was not able to formulate a coherent reply. 

“And that is why I have no choice but to end your private lessons. Once and for all. Do not visit me again outside of timetabled classes. I apologise to you most sincerely for my appalling lack of good manners. You are not ... hurt, I hope?”

“No, Professor, I’m not hurt, but ...”

“Enough. You must go, Miss Granger. Do not forget tonight’s lesson, at least, not the part about shield charms anyway.”

“I will remember it all, Sir.”

“As will I, Granger,” he replied, unable to keep the tone of regret from his voice. 

She gathered her bag and walked out of the classroom, pulling the heavy wooden door closed behind her. 

As will I. 

For the whole of my fucking life, no doubt.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione snuck a look at Cormac’s handsome profile, and thought again how exceptionally different his behaviour was tonight. She liked it. She would have a good evening. And she would resolutely not think of her dark, troubled, Defence professor.

Chapter 12

Severus had ensured that his conduct was nothing less than exemplary in the final week of the school term. After a weekend spent secreted in his chambers, where he had wallowed in self-punishing angst for two days, not even venturing out for meals in the Great Hall, he emerged on Monday determined to return himself to his usual path. 

His usual path of acerbically cruel teaching, obeying the whims of both Dumbledore and Voldemort, and most certainly not shagging any more students. Yes, everything was quite back to normal; well, as normal things could be for a wizard with his ... obligations. 

There was only a week left to endure until most of the little shits returned home to their families for the Christmas holidays, leaving the castle mostly quiet and peaceful, excepting that he would probably be called more regularly before the Dark Lord, which in itself was not a comforting thought, since the insane bastard was becoming more inhuman every time Severus met with him. 

However, the knowledge that there were only five teaching days left before two weeks off was a pleasant one. Three sessions of sixth-year Gryffindor Slytherin DADA had been a nightmare for which he had found himself emotionally unprepared. 

Miss Granger had behaved perfectly, there was no hint of anger he could detect, nor any kind of lingering distress. She had not sought him out after classes or at any other time, the schedule that had existed for their private tutorials discarded by unspoken mutual agreement. 

He wondered if she were the world’s best actress or was genuinely ambivalent towards him. It did not take too much thought to presume the latter. As if a young, intelligent, beautiful witch would ever harbour any kind of feeling towards someone like him. 

The final lesson on Friday afternoon would of course have to be hers, and the sixth-year students were in high spirits not only for the end of term and the imminent departure of the Hogwarts Express the following morning, but also due to the wretched Christmas party that Slughorn was giving in his private quarters that evening. 

All his classes, not only this one, had been full of chatter and idle gossip regarding the event all week. Horace had cherry-picked a group of students to attend, ones whom he, in his own esteemed opinion, deemed likely to be successful, influential, or in any way worth collecting. Each of the members of his ‘Slug Club’, Severus curled his lip in disgust at his corpulent colleague blatant favouritism, had been instructed to bring a partner, and it had been this request that had caused the most hubbub, so keen were the uninvited to be asked to attend as a guest. 

However, Slughorn had not only contained his partisan views to the students, but had invited all the Slytherin members of staff to attend, quite happily excluding all the professors from the other three houses. Horace had been Head of Slytherin before his first retirement, and Severus had taken over the role along with the Potions position when he left. 

Therefore he, Aurora Sinistra and Septima Vector, were obliged to join Horace’s little soiree this evening and forced to make merry. His stomach sank at the thought of it. 

As he concluded the lesson and dismissed the class he was strangely disappointed to see Miss Granger pack up her books quickly and leave, one of the first to exit the classroom. He remained at his desk, covertly observing the exiting students through a long curtain of hair, scratching in a notebook in an irritated fashion. 

“She ran off quickly, Lav. Smug bitch. Just because she’s going tonight, and we aren’t.”

This was from Miss Patil, the less intelligent of the sisters, since her twin was in Ravenclaw.

“Swanning around like she owns the school, just because she’s going with Cormac. I can’t even figure out why McLaggen would ask a dull swot like Hermione Granger?”

This was from the mouth of Miss Brown. His ears pricked up at the mention of Granger’s name. 

“She was going anyway. They could have both brought a guest and two more people could have gone to the party,” Miss Patil replied. 

“No doubt he’ll find out what a slut she is soon enough. Unless he was the one ... you know, the other night?”

The other night? What did these two witches know?

“You think Granger was shagging McLaggen? She should be so lucky. Let’s fuck with her dress while she’s in the shower, it’s not as if she has others to choose from. She’ll end up at the party in her jeans,” Miss Brown suggested, to a twisted smirk from her friend. 

“Miss Brown and Miss Patil, ten points apiece from Gryffindor for your profane language in my classroom.”

They looked up, clearly shocked that he had been able to hear their muttered conversation.

“Furthermore I would advise you that I am about to attend a staff meeting with your Head of House. I would presume that Professor McGonagall would not agree with your plan to sabotage the dress robes of another student.”

“No, Sir.”

Both girls flushed, finished stuffing their books into their bags and hurriedly left the classroom without looking back. 

Once the room was empty with the door closed behind the final student to exit, he leaned back in his chair, his hands pressed to his temples with annoyance. So Miss Granger would be at the party tonight, on the arm of Mr McLaggen, an odious little shit of a seventh-year, built like a gorilla and with a brain to match. 

He had hopefully saved her dress, but Severus was now looking forward to the gathering even less than he had been before. 

\- xxx –

Hermione had left the Defence classroom as quickly as possible after Snape had dismissed them, in order to get to the dormitory bathroom before Lavender or Parvati returned. They were still smarting from not being invited to Slug Club party by anyone, and had been taking out their annoyance on her all week, and she was bloody sick of it. 

It had been a strange few days, trying to collect her thoughts after Snape had shagged her ruthlessly on a classroom desk, and then withdrawn his private lessons and contact from her without missing a beat. 

It seemed to Hermione that he wanted her, but would not allow himself, due to their relative positions, which was fair enough. She did not want him to lose his job, and she did not want to be expelled. Plus she wasn’t too keen on anyone finding out that she’d twice had sex with the DADA professor, if she was honest. 

He wasn’t a handsome wizard. His personality was arrogant and unsympathetic. He favoured his own Slytherin students, which annoyed her enormously. He seemed to have absolutely no friends, and seriously, he needed to wash his hair properly.

And yet. 

He had aroused feelings in her that she had not thought possible. Not only sexually, although that was a big part of it, as he had taken her breath away, but also intellectually. In their private tutorials she suspected he was leading her to something, warning her of things she would need to know, preparing her for all eventualities. She had the strangest feeling that she needed him – but did not yet know why. 

After she had showered, she left the bathroom to find Ginny waiting for her, along with an annoyed looking Lavender and Parvati eyeballing the red-headed girl who was sprawled quite unabashed on her bed, flicking through one of the books from her bedside table. 

“Hey Gin. Everything ok?”

“I thought you might like to get ready in my dormitory with me? I can do your hair and we can enjoy getting ready together without these two breathing down your neck.”

Hermione smiled gratefully as she threw underwear, shoes, make-up and her dress into a small bag. Ginny really didn’t care who she offended, she said what she thought, when she thought it, and Hermione admired her balls. 

“Who do you think you’re talking to, Weasley?”

“To Hermione, actually. I wasn’t talking to either of you at all. She deserves to have her fun getting dressed up for a party, and not be harassed by jealous bitches.”

“What the fuck do you know, you little fifth-year shit?”

“Probably more than you, Lavatory, so do us all a favour and shut up. Unless you’d like me to tell my brother that his girlfriend is only seeing him because she can’t get herself partnered up with Cormac McLaggen?”

Lavender turned bright scarlet, but apart from throwing Ginny a bitchy look, she seemed to have nothing further to say, as she tossed her blonde curls over her shoulder with an annoyed huff. No doubt the accusation had been true. 

“Come on, Hermione. Let’s knock McLaggen sideways when you walk into the common room.”

They passed a very pleasant couple of hours in Ginny’s dorm, the fifth-form Gryffindors that Ginny shared with were lovely, enjoying helping the two girls get ready for the party without a hint of jealousy, despite not going themselves. Ginny had covered Hermione’s frizzy head in Sleakeazy potion, she hadn’t been doused in this much of the stuff since the Yule Ball, and her friend worked absolute wonders with her hair, transforming the wild curls into sleek, waved tendrils, clipped up at the sides with the rest hanging down her back. 

Both of them were wearing more make-up than usual, and Ginny had definitely overdone the perfume, to everyone’s amusement. Her dress was emerald green, ankle length and high-necked, but very, very tight, so that it clung to every curve of her body and it looked amazing with her red hair. No doubt Dean Thomas would be a happy boy tonight, and Harry’s crush on her would go up yet another notch, Hermione thought, with a pang of sympathy for her best friend, who had invited Luna Lovegood at the last minute to avoid going alone. 

Hermione had gone for a very dark purple dress (‘aubergine’, the woman in the shop had called it) with a ruffled v-shaped neckline, sleeveless and short, it ended mid-thigh. She would rather show off a little leg than lots of cleavage, and matching shoes, higher than she would normally wear, completed her outfit. Simple, and hopefully classy. 

As they entered the common room they were met with good natured wolf-whistles from the boys, as they were the only two Gryffindor girls attending the party, and Hermione saw Cormac approaching her immediately. 

He actually looked fantastic, his dark grey tailored suit was clearly expensive and fitted his large, tall frame perfectly, his white shirt immaculate, he was freshly shaved and his curly blonde hair was groomed but relaxed. He held a small bunch of red flowers in his hand, which he pushed into her hands when he reached her, placing a chaste kiss upon her cheek.

“Granger. Thank you for coming with me tonight. I’m really looking forward to it.”

Hermione was unexpectedly touched by the gesture. There was an anxiety on his face that she had not seen before, and his eyes were clear and honest, things normally hidden by the arrogant bluster he generally projected. Perhaps an evening with him would not be as bad as she had feared. He was certainly very good-looking, and whilst she wouldn’t ever choose a partner on looks alone, she couldn’t deny that it helped. Not forgetting that when he’d leant forward to kiss her, he’d smelled amazing. 

One of Ginny’s friends took the flowers from her, promising to find a vase and put them in water in Hermione’s dormitory. Dean’s eyes had bugged out of his head at the sight of his girlfriend’s arse in its skin-tight green wrapping, and as Hermione had suspected, Harry would need to wipe his chin if he drooled any more. He ought to be careful, lest he find himself punched in the face by both Dean and Ron. Harry wished them all a good evening, and then left quickly for Ravenclaw Tower, where he had promised to meet Luna. 

Once they had climbed through the portrait hole, a difficult feat for Ginny in that dress, Hermione had taken Cormac’s proffered arm, surprised at the muscle she could feel under her hand. He’d looked down at her and smiled, and she’d returned it, before the four of them began to walk through the corridors towards Slughorn’s office, where the party was being held. They passed many students and a few professors along the way, all of whom seemed impressed by the partnerships. 

Hermione snuck a look at Cormac’s handsome profile, and thought again how exceptionally different his behaviour was tonight. She liked it. She would have a good evening. And she would resolutely not think of her dark, troubled, Defence professor. 

\- xxx –

Slughorn’s office had been magically expanded to accommodate the number of guests at his party, and the walls and ceiling had been hung with red, green and gold drapes, giving the impression that they were inside a large, elegant Bedouin tent. Professor Slughorn himself had been working the room, his rotund stomach bursting out of his gold smoking jacket and his balding head hidden by a matching tasselled hat. Everyone he introduced had a connection or achievement to share; every guest seemed to fulfil a purpose. 

Hermione had heard that Slughorn had only invited staff members from his own house, and sure enough, there were Professor Sinistra and her Arithmancy teacher, Professor Vector standing with the librarian Madam Pince in a small huddle, all in fine dress robes. No doubt Snape was here somewhere too, dressed exactly as he normally did and attempting to blend into the background. 

Cormac returned from the drinks table with two goblets of mead, passing one to her which she began to sip slowly, for this was not an evening for getting drunk and humiliating herself. Catching a whiff of his breath, she wondered if he had already downed one drink before coming back to her. He seemed nervous, so she did her best to put him at his ease so that he wouldn’t try to embolden himself with too much alcohol. 

He led her to the small dance floor and they enjoyed dancing to the slightly strange wizarding music – loud singing accompanied by mandolins – but it was a pleasant enough beat. He held her in his arms in a respectful manner and she couldn’t help but begin to relax and enjoy herself. She could not deny she was enjoying his attention, and he was making it very clear he was attracted to her. He was not hiding, wrestling with his feelings or running away with guilt. 

Snape had wrung her out emotionally these last few weeks, leaving her unsure of her own feelings. Cormac was so ... uncomplicated. He was a simple, surprisingly nice wizard, whom she was seeing through new eyes tonight. She needed to sever the emotional connection she had developed with her professor, it was not healthy, and had no future. She allowed Cormac to pull her closer. 

Severus narrowed his eyes in jealousy as he watched her from his partly-concealed vantage point across the room. After being dragged by Horace into a conversation with Potter, of all people, he had stuck to the perimeter of the room to lurk. The evening was a few hours old now, and he could reasonably have made his excuses and retired now, but there was no way he could drag his gaze away from Granger. 

He had covertly watched, watched as she drank, danced and ate with McLaggen, apparently not noticing the boy imbibing far more alcohol than she was, although he had to concede that the oaf was behaving himself, thus far. 

They were back on the dance floor now, the music slower, and the sight of her bare arms around the undeserving neck of McLaggen as they moved together was torturing him in an exquisitely painful way that the Dark Lord would never have thought of. 

Suddenly, there was a scuffle, and Argus Filch strode into the room, dragging Malfoy with a tight grasp of his sleeve.

“Get off me, you filthy Squib!”

Severus was on his Slytherin in two seconds flat. 

“I beg your pardon, Mr Malfoy? We do not address Hogwarts staff in such a disrespectful manner.”

Draco had glared at him with hatred as Slughorn had wobbled over, having heard the commotion and was keen to diffuse it, lest his carefully-organised party begin to break up. 

Filch was forcing Draco to explain himself, whilst over his head Severus could see Cormac McLaggen leading Granger away from the dance floor, towards a quiet corner, where he had moved his hand behind her head and pulled her lips towards his own. 

\- xxx –

Cormac had given her a rather attractive smile as he had leant in to kiss her, and she found that she wanted him to. His full lips moved slowly on hers, gentle and seeking. She lifted her arms and slid them around his waist where they rested upon his lower back. Taking this for encouragement, he put a strong arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, so that their bodies were touching. 

After a short while, because after all, they were still in public, he pulled back from her. Neither of them wanted to get caught snogging in Professor Slughorn’s office. He’d probably want to watch. 

“Well, that was unexpected, Granger,” he smiled, his lips a little redder than before. 

“For me too. I didn’t think ... well, you’ve been very different tonight, Cormac. I may have had the wrong impression of you before. I’ve been glad of the opportunity to get to know you better.”

A satisfied smile appeared on his face. 

“I think we need to get to know each a lot better than this. Ready to leave this party and head back to the common room?”

“Definitely. I think we’ve met everyone that Slughorn deems influential enough.”

“Brilliant. Let’s go back the long way.”

Hermione wasn’t entirely sure what Cormac meant by ‘the long way’, but she allowed him to pull her by the hand to give their thanks to Professor Slughorn for a wonderful evening, and he had dismissed them both with a rather leery wink as he wished them a good Christmas.

They walked hand-in-hand along the corridors, taking a route that would mean it was a much longer trek back to the common room, but Hermione found that she didn’t mind awfully much. Occasionally he would pull her to him for a brief kiss, and she was rather enjoying his skill and the feel of his warm lips.

They reached a long, echoing corridor, completely empty, and Cormac had stopped them about halfway down and turned fully towards her before sliding both his hands around the back of her head and pressing his mouth to hers. He began to kiss her with more urgency than he had been, pushing his tongue between her lips and swirling it roughly around her mouth. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was a complete change from the rest of the evening. 

He backed her a few paces against the stone wall, cushioning her head with his hands to protect it from the light impact. 

“Fuck, Granger. You are fucking hot, girl.”

He pressed himself fully against her, squashing her into the wall with the full length of his body and she could clearly feel his erection as he ground his hips in a circle, moaning into her mouth. 

“Cormac ...” she said, hesitantly, feeling uncomfortable. 

“I’m here, lover. Oh yes.”

Lover? Blurgh. 

He removed one of his hands from behind her head and transferred it to her breast, squeezing it roughly. 

“Ugghh. Awesome tits. I’ve wanted to get my hands on these for months.”

McLaggen removed his mouth from mauling hers with words and kisses, and began to lick down her neck, sucking on her collarbone. Where had the respectful young wizard she had spent the evening with disappeared to?

“You need to stop. What are you doing? We had such a good time.”

He lifted his head from her neck. 

“We’re having an even better time now, Hermione. Just enjoy it. Half the girls in Gryffindor would hex each other to be standing where you are now.”

He dropped his head to the opposite side of her neck and began to lavish the same dubiously damp attention there, too. 

“Cormac, I mean it. Stop. I’m not interested in taking this further at the moment.”

His response was to remove the other hand from her head, slide it down the side of her body and grab hold of her arse, squeezing it and yanking her thigh up so he could grind himself better against her crotch. Her dress was short and there were only her knickers covering her. 

“So good. I bet you’re soaking wet, aren’t you?”

“Stop it now, McLaggen. Don’t force me to hex you.”

“Like you would,” he drawled, planting his mouth on hers again, not releasing his grip on her leg. The feel of his cock grinding against her, and the taste of alcohol on his breath were making her feel sick. 

Without warning, he was no longer on her. He had been ripped from her with great force. 

Snape was there, yanking McLaggen across the corridor by the scruff of the neck like he was some kind of dark, avenging angel. 

“I believe, Mr McLaggen, that Miss Granger has asked you to desist with your attentions. This means stop, idiot boy. Do not allow your rampant teenage hormones and the amount of mead you have consumed to cloud the issue of consent.”

“Sir, I ...” he spluttered, looking horrified but also rather drunk. 

“Get to bed immediately. I shall revert to Professor McGonagall for your punishment. Tomorrow you will apologise to Miss Granger for your inexcusable lapse of judgement.”

The angry look on Snape’s face, contorted with volcanic black fury, meant that Cormac did not even attempt to argue. He shot off down the long corridor at a cracking pace, not looking back. 

Snape turned to her. 

“What on earth were you playing at, Granger?”

“What was I playing at? Me?”

“How could you entertain a braggart like McLaggen?”

He was angry, clearly very angry indeed, and not just at Cormac. At her, too. Why?

“I’m not sure what business that is of yours, Professor,” she replied, coolly. 

“I thought since after we ... after we ...” he muttered, seeming to lose his nerve.

“After we what? Would you like to finish that sentence?”

“We have been ... intimate, Miss Granger.”

“And entitles you to an opinion on whom I may, or may not, choose to kiss?”

He looked wrongfooted, opening and closing his mouth several times as if he had an answer on the tip of his tongue, but kept forgetting what it was. 

“You don’t think I know that, Sir?” she continued, a little more gently. “You don’t think I remember our intimacy every day since it happened?”

“I wonder that you are so easily able to kiss McLaggen, then, if that is true.”

“Because you never have!”

Hermione shouted the words, hearing them bounce and echo from the high stone walls and rafters of the thankfully deserted corridor. The shocked expression on his face was worth a thousand Galleons. 

“You would want such things from me?” he asked, quietly. 

“Of course I do. On the two occasions we have had sex, I wonder what it is about me that makes me so undesirable, why you can’t get rid of me fast enough afterwards.”

He took a step towards her, closing the distance between them to a hair’s breadth.

“Believe me, girl. I desire you,” he hissed, dangerously, his black eyes flashing. 

“You do?”

“Oh, I do.”

“Prove it.”

Severus placed a tentative hand on each of her shoulders, looking helplessly into the face of this young witch, before slowly leaning his head towards hers, wanting so desperately to devour her mouth with his own, but not knowing even where to begin. His heart was beating so hard against his chest that he was convinced she must be able to hear it, and he felt utterly ridiculous. 

He inexpertly put his cold lips on hers and held them there, not moving, just feeling the warmth of her mouth, enjoying it, but with no idea what to do next, and not entirely sure what to do with his nose. After a few seconds he started to pull back, in disgust at his own ineptitude, but Granger did not allow it. 

She took hold of his hands and removed them from her shoulders, guiding them down to her waist and pushing his arms so that he slid them around to her lower back. They were now pressed against each other, but she did not flinch, instead she lifted her bare arms to his head and clasped either side, turning his face slightly to one side before pulling him gently towards her. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, Sir,” she whispered, her lips inches from his. 

“You have?”

“I have. I just didn’t know it until right now.”

Granger closed the tiny distance between them, and their lips met again, and with the angle she had created there was now plenty of room for his nose. The girl began to move her mouth against his in a gentle motion, and he could not help but respond, imitating the movements of her soft lips with his own, pleasure sweeping over him as she held his head steady. 

The touch of her mouth was so light and sensuous, that it made him want to break down and weep. The feel of holding this small, female body in his arms was like holding the most precious gift, and he tightened his arms around her, wanting her closer, closer still. 

All of a sudden, he felt the flick of her tongue against the seam of his lips, trailing it along the join, requesting entrance and teasing his sensitive, untouched lips. 

Oh, yes please. 

Severus opened his mouth and Granger slipped her tongue inside to flicker lightly against his own. He let out an involuntary groan as his natural instinct finally took over, and he moved one hand behind her head to hold it steady before opening his mouth fully to her, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth and tussling it with hers like a coiling snake. He felt and heard her gasp in his mouth, and it sent a shot of pleasure straight to his cock. 

She dropped her hands from his head, realising that he no longer needed the direction, and rested her palms against his chest, returning the kiss as eagerly as he was delivering it. He pulled her hard against him, wanting to claim her, wanting her to accept him, his pleasured groans and noises muffled by her lips.

At length, he reluctantly broke the kiss, but he needed to catch his breath. He trailed his mouth up her cheek and held her tight, resting his chin on top of her beautiful head. 

“You desire me. You want my touch. You do,” he murmured into the air above her. 

“I do,” she confirmed. 

“I have wanted to kiss you, Miss Granger. Do not doubt that. But it is wrong.”

“It always was.”

Severus loosened his hold, and looked down into her expressive brown eyes, rimmed with dark make-up that made her look older, and stunningly beautiful, although he found her just as attractive without a scrap of colour on her face and her hair unkempt. 

“I can no longer deny myself that which you are willing to give, when I want it so desperately,” he admitted.

“You do not have to.”

“We will need to be exceptionally careful to conceal this.”

She grinned at him.

“Well then, I suggest we stop snogging in this public corridor then, Professor.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, secretly enjoying her cheek. 

Raising his right arm and sweeping the voluminous black cloth of his teaching robes around her, he cast a spell she had never heard before, and a split second later they were standing by the large four-poster bed in his chambers, where she had taken his virginity, and it all looked exactly the same as when she’d last been here. 

She looked around the familiar room in amazement. 

“But ... the wards ... it is impossible to Apparate within Hogwarts?”

“Yes,” he replied, with a whiff of arrogance. “It is indeed impossible.”

His smirk was so attractive that she couldn’t help but grab his coat at the neck, and pull his head firmly down towards her so that she could feel his lips on hers again. The night had just begun.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would deny her nothing. Whatever she wanted him to do, he would do it, and what was more, he wanted to. There was a world of difference between desiring to meet her every need, and being forced to do the bidding of his masters, regardless of his own feelings.

Chapter 13

As Granger dragged him towards her by his collar with a most inviting smile on her face, Severus threw his arms around her with the momentum and pulled her hard against him, running his hands firmly over her back, not wanting to leave an inch of her body untouched, now he had access to it. His mouth was working with a mind of its own now, moving upon hers so fervently, kissing her so deeply it was as if he’d been doing so for years, not minutes. 

Who would have thought that the mere touching of lips would make him feel aroused and alert from the top of his head to the smallest of his toes? His cloak had risen up with his arms and was draped around her, enveloping the girl in his dark black embrace and she seemed to burrow inside it, trying to move even nearer to him. Granger was utterly enticing, in every way, and he felt the years melt away, nestled in the security of her gentle arms. 

It was so wrong. But surprisingly, Severus found it very easy to put his guilt to one side in order to avail himself of her. He could no more stop what they were doing than he could halt the ever-flowing sands of time. With every swirl of his tongue inside her mouth, with every stroke of his hand upon her back, he was reclaiming. Reasserting his right to live life as he wished, finally taking something for himself, however forbidden it was. 

Granger released her grip on his collar and pushed his flowing teaching robes off his shoulders, which dropped silkily into her hands. He stepped back and took the cloak from her, placing it over his bedroom chair before running his wand down the buttons of his frock coat to undo them all at once, removing this garment also and adding it to the pile. Whilst he was doing this, she had slipped her shoes off and was standing barefooted by his bed, making her even shorter than before, once she had removed the heels. He followed the young witch’s lead, toeing off his dragon-hide boots and pushing his socks off, flicking them goodness knows where, he didn’t much care right now. 

“Could we ... could we lay down together?” she asked. “It seems like we’ve done everything backwards so far, you know, physically, and it would be so nice just to lie with you, Sir.”

She had asked in such a sweet, gentle manner that it made his heart melt. There was absolutely no way in the entire world that he deserved this witch. But yet she was here. With him. He would deny her nothing. Whatever she wanted him to do, he would do it, and what was more, he wanted to. There was a world of difference between desiring to meet her every need, and being forced to do the bidding of his masters, regardless of his own feelings. 

“Up on the bed,” he directed, sitting down once she had hopped up onto the high mattress of the four-poster, swinging his long legs around to lie next to her, finding satisfaction in looking at his barefooted, black-trousered legs alongside her sexy bare ones, in her short dress. 

She lay on her side, head on one arm atop the pillow with her abundant hair spilling everywhere, and he rested his own greasy head on his elbow to look down at her, not resisting the urge to toy with a bouncy curl that had drifted on to her face. 

“I think, Miss Granger, that it would be entirely appropriate for you to stop addressing me as Sir, at least for this evening.”

“Professor?” she shot him a small, merry smile that indicated she was teasing. 

He arched an elegant eyebrow at her. 

“I believe Severus will suffice, seeing as that is my given name.”

“Sev-er-us ...” she whispered slowly, drawing out the syllables and caressing the unfamiliar word around her lips and tongue, “Severus. Severus. You are beautiful, Severus.”

The girl had touched his cheek, sweeping her fingers up to his forehead and across, down his long, hooked nose, and ended up with her fingertips to his lips, which he kissed with the lightest of pressure. He was taken aback both by her words and her touch. 

“I would suggest that you are the beautiful one, Granger.”

“Hermione.”

“Hermione,” he breathed, leaning forwards to repeat the name into her hair, again against her neck, and again into her ear. “Thank you, Hermione.”

She did not have time to answer, since he had insinuated his hand into the mass of curls at the back of her head, grasping it and gently pulling her head into the perfect place for him to kiss her again. His lips were hungry for the taste of hers yet again, the sensation of snogging whilst laying down together another blissfully new experience. 

Severus was nothing if not a quick learner, although he was surprised just how much was coming naturally, his neglected body taking charge, determined to make up for lost time, claiming the nurture it had too long been denied.

His eyes closed, he placed his other hand on her side, in the dip of her waist, feeling the warmth of her torso through the thin material of her dress. He nuzzled her nose with his as they kissed open-mouthed; the movement tipping her chin upwards so he could deepen the thrust of his tongue against hers. He felt her lift her hand to his head, threading her fingers through his hated thin hair not with disgust, but with tenderness, scraping her nails across his scalp and taking tiny handfuls of hair and pulling gently, arousing all the sensitive nerve endings there. 

Not able to stop the moan of pleasure that he let out into her mouth, he heard a deep rumble that started in his gut and rolled unbidden up his body. It was a moan of desires realised, of sweet release and of sheer bliss.   
He lifted his leg over her, the movement toppling her on to her back so that his thigh was against her mound, and her hip rubbing deliciously against his semi-hard erection. This time the moan came from her, and he felt Granger pull harder against his head, so he moved over her a little, kissing her backwards into the soft pillow beneath her curly head. 

The change of position had dislodged his hand from her waist, and he lifted it to her breast, compelled to take a handful of the warm globe that he had fruitlessly lusted after over the last few months. He covered her entire tit with his large hand and squeezed tentatively.

“Yes ... yes,” she whispered against his lips, arching her back so as to push her chest nearer to him. 

She wanted his touch. Sweet Merlin. 

He grasped more firmly, flexing his skilful fingers against her curves, revelling in how very, very good it felt to have a handful of Hermione Granger’s delicious tit in his hand. Using one long finger he fumbled for her nipple which he knew would be there and began to play with it, surprised but delighted to find it erect and hard even through the material of her dress and brassiere. 

Severus was hit with the thought that didn’t know how he had survived all his adult life without her body beneath his hands. He would go through forty years of virginity all over again if it meant he could have this girl for his own. He never wanted to let go. 

“Lay on me,” she requested, “I want to feel you against me.”

He would never deny her anything, nor deny himself, not any more. Never again. He pushed himself fully across and above her, feeling her legs open beneath him and he slipped in between her warm thighs, pressing his groin directly on top of hers, circling his hips involuntarily and feeling her do the same. 

“Fuck, witch,” he groaned. “Do you know what you do to me?”

“Tell me.”

“I’d rather show you.”

He began to grind his erection harder against her, running his hand down her side and reaching her bare thigh where her short dress had ridden up. Grabbing hold of her thigh he pulled her leg upwards and around his hip, opening her wider and frotting against her through her knickers like a teenage boy. 

“Severus ...”

He was beginning to love the sound of his name from her lips, already.

“Gods, Hermione,” he panted, dropping his head yet again to her ready mouth, of which he could not get enough. 

Hermione accepted his attentions, returning them with equal ardour of her own, being driven slowly insane by his slow grinding against her most sensitive places. She was rolling around on a giant bed with Professor Snape, and far from feeling any embarrassment, she was enjoying every moment of it. 

No doubt a new morning and a clear head would begin to throw up doubts about the good sense of what they were doing, but at that moment, late at night and the sexual tension at fever pitch, she was hard-pressed to care. 

This was about as far as she had gone with Viktor before he’d decided that was enough foreplay and that it was time for the main event. In the years since, it had always seemed like he’d missed a huge chunk in the middle and that was being made abundantly clear to her now as Severus lavished attention upon her body, drawing his pleasure from her own, not pushing her further. 

Feeling emboldened by his acceptance and empowered by his enthusiasm, she pushed Snape on to his back with very little effort, for he was so boneless and malleable with arousal. This reversed their position, so she was above him, her knees either side of his hips and sitting directly on his hard penis, his trousers and her knickers between them, leaning forward to keep their lips connected. Her long curls, so artfully tended by Ginny all those hours ago, were falling on to his face and curtaining their conjoined mouths. 

Hermione wondered if at some point she would have a complete panic attack that she was currently snogging a teacher, well, a lot more than snogging, actually, but nothing of that nature seemed to be happening. Instead it all felt just so ... right, and she didn’t want it to stop. 

\- xxx –

They awoke a few hours later, fully-clothed and disorientated. 

“We fell asleep!” Hermione squealed, shocked.

“It seems that we did. Clearly the beverages that Slughorn was pressing upon us all were far stronger than expected. Do you have a headache?”

“No, I’m fine. I didn’t drink more than two goblets of the mead. What time is it?”

He cast a tempus charm in the air above them. 

“Four A.M. As much as I am loath to release you, Hermione, I believe that you should return to your dormitory. You do not want your dorm mates to report you missing.”

“Those two? They wouldn’t care.”

Severus remembered overhearing Miss Brown and Miss Patil earlier. Clearly neither of them had much love for Hermione. They wouldn’t report her missing through concern, rather from a desire to land her in trouble for being out after curfew. 

“Or, perhaps it would give them satisfaction to see you in trouble?” he suggested, gently. 

Her face changed from dismissive, to one of resignation and concern.

“That is far more likely. Neither of them would miss a chance to get me in trouble with Professor McGonagall.”

There was a pause, and he stroked his hand down her arm, leaning in to gently kiss her lips. He did not want to let her go. He wanted to keep her here, hide her away, and himself away with her. 

“I shall escort you back to Gryffindor Tower.”

“There’s no need ...” she began.

“There is nothing in this world that would persuade me to throw you out of my rooms to walk the corridors of Hogwarts alone in the middle of the night. I shall escort you back,” he interrupted, his tone firm and unwavering. 

Severus reluctantly rolled out of bed, shoving his feet back into his boots, not bothering with socks. Offering his hand, he helped her off the bed, holding her hand while she reached for her shoes. 

“I’m not wearing them. My feet started to kill me after an hour of wearing them. The flagstones will feel lovely and cool on my bare feet.”

She held them in one hand by the straps, smoothed her rumpled dress down, and turned to face him.

“Let’s go then ... I suppose.”

\- xxx -

The walk through the dark corridors of Hogwarts had been an oddly pleasant experience with Severus by her side, and he had not let go of her hand throughout the entire journey. Wearing only his white shirt and trousers, rather than the full robes he always wore, he seemed so much more normal, vulnerable, even. He’d held her hand shyly, his occasional glances at her awkward and tentative. Severus was a completely different person to the austere, humourless Professor Snape. 

In no time at all they were at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, attempting to wake up the Fat Lady so that she would open the portrait hole for Hermione to enter. The painting was feigning sleep, clearly annoyed at being woken in the middle of the night.

“Madam, if you do not open the common room entrance this instant, I shall take my wand and turpentine you from your entire frame.”

Severus’ stern voice brooked no argument, and the Fat Lady ‘miraculously’ woke up, yawning and stretching in an exaggerated way. Hermione looked up at her with disinterest, and gave the password, not interested in conversation. 

“Baubles.”

“And to you too, young lady. Now, you are well after curfew, aren’t you?” 

The Fat Lady looked at Hermione disapprovingly and made a tutting sound as the portrait hole clicked open behind her, although she looked most reluctant to permit the tardy entry. 

“I do not believe that to be any of your business,” Severus drawled, taking hold of Hermione’s arm and turning her towards him. 

The young witch looked up at him, the dim light of the hallway making him look very dark and serious. 

“I wish you a most pleasant Christmas holiday and safe journey home, Hermione,” he said, in an oddly formal manner, considering what they had been doing all evening.

“I will miss you,” she replied, placing one hand on his chest. 

No one, ever in his life, had ever said that to him before. 

He suddenly cared little that they were stood in front of the Fat Lady. Gossipy old bitch was a bloody portrait, and he had enough problems answering to people who were still alive, let alone those that were dead. 

Without a thought beyond that, he shot his arms out, catching her around the waist and pressed his lips to hers before she could protest, not that she did. Her own arms came up and around his neck, and she opened his mouth with her own and searched out his tongue, which he gave up easily. 

“Well, really,” they heard from the portrait watching them, “how inappropriate!”

They both ignored her. Severus kept Hermione held tight against him and his jaw moved up and down with the effort of delivering the most enthusiastic goodbye kiss that he could, snogging her as passionately as one of the many students he’d seen and caught around the school in darkened alcoves. 

“If you don’t get through this door right now, young lady, I shall seal the entrance and change the password,” the Fat Lady said, crossly.

“I have to go.”

“I know. Good night, Hermione.”

“Good night ... Severus.”

She smiled once more before extricating herself reluctantly from his arms and disappearing through the small entrance to the portrait hole. 

“Disgusting behaviour, Professor.”

He looked up at the ridiculous Fat Lady in her frame, puffed up with her own self-importance at being the chosen guard for Gryffindor Tower. 

“It was indeed. Thankfully, Madam, I do not give one single shit about your opinion, and if I wish to kiss that young lady every night in this hallway, just I have tonight, I shall.”

He flicked her a two-fingered salute and spun on his heel, his boots making no noise as he flew down the hallway at his usual blisteringly fast rate. 

\- xxx –

Hermione entered the empty common room, the fire long burnt out due to the lateness of the hour, making the large room cold and dark. She did not linger there, tiptoeing lightly up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories, glad that she was barefoot as it avoided any unnecessary noise. The door to the sixth-formers’ dorm creaked as she pushed it open, and she could only grit her teeth and hope that Lavender and Parvati were fast asleep and not aware of what time she was getting in, five hours after curfew. 

There was a helpful beam of moonlight shining through one of the narrow castle windows of their dorm, casting enough light onto her bed to enable her to find her way without bumping into anything. The red flowers from Cormac were in a small vase on her bedside table, obviously placed there as promised by Ginny’s friend. 

McLaggen. She hadn’t given him a thought since he’d stalked off, tail between his legs, after behaving like a grabby Snargaluff plant and groping her in the corridor on the way back from Slughorn’s office. She cared little for the apology he had been instructed to give her tomorrow, it made no difference to her, she had lost what little interest she’d had in him. 

Slipping off her dress and into her pyjamas, not risking using the bathroom in case it woke either of the girls, so she silently promised to clean her teeth extra-well in the morning to make up for it. It had an additional bonus, she thought, as she climbed into bed and pulled the heavy patchwork quilt over her, in that she could still taste Severus on her lips. 

\- xxx –

By morning, and after a mostly sleepless few hours, Hermione had made a decision. 

One owl to her parents, and a quick explanatory chat with Harry and Ron later, she was at a study table in the library with a pile of reference books spread before her, working on a tricky essay for Charms that was due in straight after the holidays. Madam Pince had seemed surprised to see her, but had refrained from comment. Hermione was so often in the library at peculiar times, the old librarian with her cross, tired eyes and spiky manner generally let her be, provided she respected her precious books. 

Hermione had an excellent vantage point to look down at the school gates from the library window, and finally she saw the carriages wend their way down towards Hogsmeade Station and the waiting Hogwarts Express, carrying all the students that were returning home for the Christmas holidays. Harry was spending Christmas with Ron, and she had been returning to her parents, until ... well, until now. 

An apologetic letter sent with one of the school owls had advised her parents that her workload was such that she needed the holidays to catch up on her homework and projects, and for this she would require regular access to the Hogwarts library. Hermione had promised to return home for Christmas Day itself, and explained that she would call the Knight Bus to take her there and back again, quite excited about trying a new form of wizard transportation. 

An hour later, certain that everyone had left the castle and with a fair chunk of her Charms essay written, she packed her books away in her extended bag, bid farewell to Madam Pince and headed towards the Defence classroom. 

Severus heard someone enter his classroom, walk along the length of it, and up the stairs. He heard the subsequent knock on the door to his private office and wished whoever it was would just fuck off and leave him alone. He had a headache, and his brain was beginning to hurt with his constant turning over of thoughts about Miss Granger and how he should feel guilty, but didn’t. And now she was gone for the holidays, and when term began again, who knows where they would be? He felt quite stressed, and not in full control. 

“Enter.”

Hermione walked into the office, dressed in tight muggle jeans and a plain grey jumper, looking nervous, as if she were not sure how well she would be received. 

“Forgive my presumption, Sir ... er, Severus. I’ve decided that I’m going to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. I’d like to ... er, spend some time with you, that is, if you want to?”

He looked at her incredulously, not rising from his desk. She had given up the holidays with her family ... for him? The thought was unbelievable, although the fact that she was standing here in his private office, saying these words, meant it was indeed true. He didn’t realise that he hasn’t yet answered her. 

“If you’re busy and I’ll be in your way, I’ll just spend my time in the library. I don’t want to intrude.”

She was not sure of her welcome? He must change that, instantly. He galvanised himself from his shocked stupor and leapt to his feet, crossing the room and was upon her in three long strides, slamming the door shut behind her and locking it. He lowered his hands and took hold of her around the waist, feeling the waistband of her jeans beneath his fingers, backing her up so that she was pressed gently against the door he’d just closed. 

He leaned forwards a placed a single kiss upon her lips, already starving for their touch.

“Witch, you will be lucky if I allow you to leave these chambers,” he told her, his voice husky with the emotion of what she had just done for him. 

For the first time in his life, Severus found himself looking forward to Christmas.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Miss Granger ... Hermione. I have absolutely no idea what we are doing or where it may lead. The ramifications if we were to be discovered would cost us both dearly.”

Chapter 14

Severus was struck with an urge to pick the little witch up, carry her off to his bedchamber in the manner of an uncouth mountain troll, and keep her there until the other students returned in the New Year. If his instinct was right, she would probably let him. 

However, so as not to appear dreadfully needy, nor to behave like a cave-dweller, he took her hand and gently led her to the large, dark-green leather sofa in his private office, drawing her around to be seated with a graceful arc of his arm. She tucked her legs underneath her, crossed in a child-like fashion that he was starting to find rather endearing, and turned towards where he was sitting. 

He was not entirely sure how to proceed, so he reached over and took hold of her small hand, rubbing his thumb over her smooth palm, enjoying the unfamiliar feel of bodily contact with another human. Did she know how much he needed her touch? 

“So,” he began. “In order that I am in possession of all the facts, please advise me what led to your presence in my office, which I should add, is entirely welcome, rather than being on the train home to your family?”

She gave him a somewhat sheepish smile. 

He liked that, too. 

“I felt that we had unfinished business after last night,” she replied, not backing down from the awkward conversation, “and I also felt that if I had to wait over two weeks to see you again, I would spend my entire holiday wondering what you were doing, and wanting to be with you, rather than stuck at home. My parents will spend most of the holiday either on-call from the dental surgery, or entertaining various friends and relations, so they were happy for me to stay at school when I explained how much homework and revision I had to catch up on.”

“I cannot imagine you ever falling behind with your homework.”

“I told them I had taken on extra projects for recreation. They know me well enough to believe this.”

“Indeed,” he raised a curious eyebrow at her. She reminded him of himself as a student, rapacious for knowledge, desperate for approval, and attention paid to her intellect. 

“Besides, I’m still going to see them on Christmas Day, I’ll go for a huge turkey dinner, make nice with my grandparents and various aunties, that kind of thing.”

“How will you travel there? Despite you being of age, Apparition classes do not start until the Spring?”

“I’m going to summon the Knight Bus, and get there that way.”

“You will do no such thing. That purple death-trap is an accident waiting to happen. I shall Apparate you home and return to collect you afterwards.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to do that, if you will allow it?”

She leaned over and placed a light hand on his cheek, tracing her thumb down the pale skin of his face. 

“That would be lovely. Thank you for offering.”

He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes and thinking how nice it felt to have a warm hand cupping his face. 

“Miss Granger ... Hermione. I have absolutely no idea what we are doing or where it may lead. The ramifications if we were to be discovered would cost us both dearly.”

She cocked her head to one side, looking at him as if she was weighing up her response. Leaning forwards, she crawled along the sofa to him, climbing over his legs and straddling them, seating herself gently on his lap with her knees either side of his hips. She then returned her hand to his face, along with the other one this time, turning his head so that he was looking directly at her. 

“Me neither, Severus. I cannot say anything that will make you feel better. We both know who and what we are. I don’t want you to be sacked, and I don’t want to be expelled. We are both taking a huge risk in even being alone here in your office, let alone ... anything else.”

He sighed, shifting his hips to position her better and feeling the heat between her legs pressing against his groin. Well that didn’t help.

“What do you want to do?” he muttered, thinking that it would be better to stop now rather than risk either of them getting hurt, or worse, discovered. 

“What do I want to do?” she repeated, sliding her hands to his slim shoulders, with a gleam in her eye that he liked very much, “I want to do ... everything.”

“I should chastise you for being so demanding, Granger, except I curiously find that I wish to provide you with anything that you desire, if it within my power to do so.”

Whuuump. 

That was the sound of her heart lurching with excitement at the solemn sincerity of his words, and the enormity of what he was offering, what he was willing to risk just to be with her. And he was a staggeringly intelligent wizard; he would no doubt have weighed up the odds. 

There was nothing she could do but lower her mouth to his, covering his lips with little searching kisses that thanked, appreciated and enticed. He seemed to lean back slightly, as if luxuriating in the simple feeling of having attention lavished upon him. She trailed her lips down his cheek to his ear, and poked her nose under his dark curtain of hair, whispering cheekily in his ear. 

“When can we start doing everything?”

“We are both inexperienced, Hermione, and have much to learn. Thankfully, the long Christmas holiday stretches before us, giving us time and space to begin.”

“And you definitely want to? You know … with me?”

He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion at her stupidity, or more likely, youthful loss of confidence. Bobbing his hips underneath her so she could feel his semi-hard prick rub against her crotch, he enjoyed watching her expression changed from anxious to glowing. 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“Stupid girl,” he growled, sitting up straighter and roughly swiping his mouth across hers, “as if I would not want you, every minute of every day.” 

There was no more talking for quite a while, as his kisses became more demanding, pushing her mouth open and seeking her tongue inside with his own, curling them together with noisy, sucking movements. She gasped when he caught hold of her arse, a round cheek in each hand, in order to move her hips back and forth, rubbing her shamelessly against him, building up heat and pressure for both of them.

It wasn’t until she let out a moan of increasing arousal that he remembered. 

“Shit.”

“What?”

“I am late, late for the staff festive luncheon. This is the last event of term for us, and takes place once the students have left. After this long lunch, the staff who are going home or elsewhere for Christmas will depart, and plans are made for Hogwarts over the holidays, not least of which is arrangements for those students who are staying in school.”

“I think you just made arrangements for me, did you not?”

His face split with a filthy smirk that decided she loved, instantly. 

“I am not sure our arrangements would be met with approval by your Head of House. I shall attend the luncheon and find out more. You may return to your common room, or ... if you would like ... you may stay here? My personal collection is open for your perusal.”

He gestured around the room at the walls of books and her eyes lit up as if he’d offered her his personal vault at Gringotts, not his library. 

“Really?”

“I would not have offered otherwise.”

“Then I’ll certainly wait for you here, Severus. I’d like that.”

“I would like that, too. I have never before had the pleasure of anyone waiting for me when I return.”

“Well, you do now,” she replied, simply, hopping from his lap and heading for the nearest bookcase, her fingers already outstretched and touching leather-bound spines with awe and reverence. 

“It would appear so.”

He straightened his clothing, walked over to the door and unlocked it, taking one more look at the curly-haired witch stroking his precious book collection. She would be waiting for him. 

Waiting.

For him.

He smiled to himself, and closed the door behind him. 

\- xxx – 

The luncheon was interminable as always, Albus was wearing an enormous festive hat that clashed violently with his robes and attempting to create an atmosphere of enforced jollity. The majority of the teaching staff were returning home for Christmas and were therefore keen to get going, which did not help matters, as tempus charms were being cast meaningfully every few minutes, with the headmaster ignored. The ancillary staff who stayed at Hogwarts to cover duties during the Christmas and Easter holidays had already arrived, and Dumbledore was pressing oak-matured mead and turkey slices upon them, however much they declined. 

Albus had called for a list of students remaining at Hogwarts for the holidays.

“Absolutely no one for me,” replied Pomona Sprout, sitting at the table already in her patched hat and travelling cloak, keenly awaiting dismissal. 

It was unsurprising that there were no Hufflepuffs staying at school for the Christmas holiday. Notorious home-bodies, they would soon all be tucked up in the welcoming bosoms of their families. He spoke up next, himself. 

“I have the three Drewery brothers, Albus. Their family are abroad and have not seen fit to return for the holidays. I suggest they are kept a close eye on. I shall be here in case of any major problems, but would prefer not to be disturbed on my festive break, if at all possible.”

He gave the ancillary staff a meaningful look that suggested most of their problems would most likely come from those boys. Simon, Stafford and Stratton Drewery were three of the most odious, troublemaking little shits he currently had in Slytherin house. Fifth, third and first year respectively, the main aim would be to stop them killing each other before January. Fuck knows where their parents were. It had been rumoured at the last Death Eater meeting that Colin Drewery, the boys’ father, had refused an invitation to join Voldemort’s ranks. The Dark Lord tended to make life rather … difficult, for those who refused him. 

Albus made a few notes on a parchment. 

“I have several Ravenclaws, Headmaster,” squeaked Filius Flitwick, “a round dozen, in fact. This should not be a problem since I am remaining here for the holidays, and will be rehearsing regularly with the choir.”

“Gryffindor has only Hermione Granger, Albus,” called Minerva. “She just changed her plans this morning, apparently her parents are working all through the holiday; they are both a kind of Muggle healer, so Miss Granger opted to stay here instead. I shall not be here, as I am going to stay with my sister and her family for Christmas and New Year, but she will not need babysitting, she is of age and more than capable of attending meals at the correct times. No doubt the girl will spend most of her time in the library.”

“Very good, very good,” Albus announced, rising to dismiss the staff and wish them a joyful Christmas. 

Hopefully unobserved in the melee of teachers running for the main doors and their freedom, he shot Severus a most indiscreet, and most unwelcome, wink. 

Severus gifted him with one of his best death stares in return, and was most annoyed when the headmaster waved it off with merely a smile. 

\- xxx -

He was standing in his own bedchamber, looking down at his own bed, which contained what looked like a slumbering angel; her curly hair fanned out over the pillows and discarded books all around her. It amused him that she had overdosed on books. 

The winter evening was just rolling in even though it was still only mid-afternoon, and the room was grey and dark. He sent an Incendio to the small fireplace in his room for light and warmth, the crackling orange glow illuminated the space and sent his shadow against the wall. 

Granger had a particular tome clutched to her chest that she must have been reading when sleep overtook her, an exquisite piece of wizarding fiction that he loved; ‘The Bell-Brittle Fire’, an intense story about forbidden love, (how very appropriate) but he loved it mostly to read about the fabled Bell-Brittle, an ancient magical wood where witches and wizards could go to restore their depleted powers. The author’s descriptions, even hundreds of years after it had been written, were so powerful that they transported the reader directly to the healing forest in their own mind. The Bell-Brittle had eventually been burned to the ground by Muggles to prevent the witchcraft that they considered evil and unnatural. It was certainly not a story with a ‘happily ever after’. 

Severus swirled his wand over the bed, collecting up all the books she had binged upon and sending them back to their allotted place on his office shelves. When ‘The Bell-Brittle Fire’ was tugged from her grasp, she stirred, opening her eyes to see him clearing away the books. 

“Can I keep that one?” she asked, indicating the book in her hands. 

He nodded, and the story was placed on the bedside cabinet with another swish of his wand. Kicking off his boots and depositing his outer clothing on the chair, he crawled onto the bed and directly over her, his long hair tickling her face as he straddled her. 

“You waited for me,” he said, and it was a statement, not a question. 

Hermione lifted her hands and began to open the buttons on his white shirt. The time was now, and she did not want to wait any longer before discovering what lay beneath. They had yet to remove their clothes in front of one another, despite already having had sex twice. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, desperately hoping that the answer would be yes. 

“Most definitely.”

He rolled on to his back and allowed her to completely unbutton his shirt and pull it free from the waistband of his black tailored trousers. She ran her hand over his chest, caressing his white skin that had a fair few scars, so noticeable against his pale flesh. He had some sparse black chest hair over a set of surprisingly well-defined pectorals. He was slim, but certainly not skinny. She leaned forward and kissed his bare stomach, and she felt it contract under her lips, and felt his deep intake of breath. 

“Easy,” she whispered, “I’ve got you.”

Continuing to litter kisses over his abdomen, Hermione took her time to travel up to his chest and end at his face, where it was easy to claim his mouth and be given his tongue in return. 

Their snogging became heated, both of them drawing deep breaths through their nostrils, not wanting to stop. She slipped her hand to the crotch of his trousers and gently squeezed his cock through the material, feeling it hard and warm beneath her grip. 

“Fucking hell,” he gasped, choking out a breath of pleasured shock as she continued to massage his erection. 

“I want to take your clothes off,” she murmured, smiling sweetly at him. 

“Not until I remove yours,” he growled, sitting up and reaching for the waist of her jeans, fumbling the button and zip open before rising to his knees, holding the ankles of the trousers and pulling them clean off in one smooth movement, thanks to her help of lifting her hips to assist him. 

He rolled off the bed to standing and she scooted over to him, kneeling up on the bed so they were of similar heights. She dropped her hand to his belt and unfastened it before starting on the button and zip of his own trousers. Once she had succeeded, her hands shaking a little, she allowed the trousers to drop to the chamber floor, the heavy belt giving enough weight to pull them fully down and he stepped out of them. 

She pushed his shirt from his shoulders and this too joined the trousers on the floor. He was naked apart from his undershorts, which were black, naturally. He grabbed her hand and replaced it upon his cock, encouraging her to continue to heft and squeeze, pushing against her as she massaged, looking down and watching with an incredulous and intense look on his face. 

Without warning, he reached for the hem of her jumper, pulling it up and over her head so quickly that he ended up having to rescue her hair from the resulting tangle. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, embarrassed at his lack of finesse. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she breathed, drawing his hands to her breasts that he began to touch, his fingers alight with eagerness. 

Ye Gods, who could have thought that a witch’s bosom would feel like this?

He could not help but lean forward and bury his head in her cleavage, licking between her breasts whilst he attempted to find her nipples through the lacy material of her brassiere. 

All of a sudden, the lace was loosened and he looked up to see her slipping her bra straps down her arms, she had obviously unhooked the back. 

Shit, shit, shit ... calm down, Snivellous, get a hold of your control, he berated himself, firmly. 

He could not help but let out a moan of longing as her breasts were revealed, full and round with a dimpled areole and erect pink nipples. These were definitely a woman’s tits, he thought to himself, thankfully. 

Tentatively but eagerly moving his hands towards them, he rubbed his fingertips first upon the soft skin and around her nipples, but was soon overcome and grabbed himself a handful of each one, trying to be gentle but wanting to hold more, more. 

Hermione reached down to his hips and pushed down his undershorts with one swift move, taking the stretchy material neatly over his very erect cock. 

“Now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his eyes flashing volcanic black with desire. 

“Now,” she confirmed, moving back and laying down on the bed. 

He climbed up and lay next to her, extending his hand directly to her knickers and feeling between her legs where the material was warm and damp. He ran a finger down the centre before bringing it up to his nose to breathe in her unique smell. 

“I think we can dispense with these, don’t you agree?”

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek, and lifting her hips as he tugged her knickers down to her ankles, and she kicked them off. They were now completely naked together for the first time, and they both realised it. The air was thick with the sound of their heavy breathing and fervent anticipation. 

He kissed her. 

“Would you, um ...?”

“That is not much of a direction, Hermione.”

“Can you ... touch me? Like you did before?”

“Would that be the time when I made you orgasm on my hands?”

She blushed scarlet with embarrassment; and tried to cover her face but he pulled her hands away.

“Do not hide yourself from me. Do not be shamed by my words. Feeling you come apart around my fingers was the most transcendent experience of my life thus far.”

He stroked her face and kissed her lips again. 

“May I begin?”

“Please ...” she breathed, her legs opening before his hand had even reached the sparse hair on her mound. 

Severus stroked the outer lips of her pussy, running his fingertips up and down the smooth skin, enjoying feeling her folds flutter involuntarily beneath his fingers, before slipping two fingers in between her labia and seeking out her clitoris, searching for the little bud that would bring her the most pleasure from his fondling. 

He suddenly realised properly, what was different from last time. They were both naked. He had a pair of spectacular and naked tits with licking distance. He dropped his head to her breast which was exactly within his reach as he lay beside her, opening his mouth to take in as much as he could, suckling gently, flickering his tongue around her nipple, gratified to feel her arch her spine towards him. Any erotic dreams he’d had about sucking on a witch’s tits paled into insignificance compared to the reality – she was delicious. 

Whilst he suckled, he continued to thrum her clit in a devastating rhythm, speeding up his strokes, wanting to bring her to completion again. Her hips began to buck and she was releasing little pleasured gasps one after the other, not able to take a deep breath. He took the hand from her head and placed it on the tit he was not suckling and began to roll her nipple between his fingers, keeping a fast pace on the other with his sharp tongue. 

It was as if he was playing her body like an instrument, and he was amazed at the way she was coming apart beneath his hands, fingers, mouth and tongue. 

When short little screams began coming from her lips, her hips thrust up hard and rigid against his hand, he twisted her clitoris gently but without surcease until she exploded in orgasm, shaking with the force of her climax. He rubbed his fingers around her vaginal opening, feeling it contract powerfully as it expelled her arousal fluid. 

Granger looked up at him, encircling his neck with her arms, her eyes glazed and drunk with lust. For him. He had never seen anything so beautiful. 

“Fuck,” she breathed, smiling. 

“I should very much like to,” he drawled, a dangerous look in his eyes.

“I want you to,” she answered, pulling on his neck in order to bring him above her. 

Severus lay on top of her, having a brief panic of what to do now, as both previous times they’d done this he’d been standing, and thus able to find a secure base to thrust from. What the fuck did he do now that they were lying down?

Hermione saw the worry in his eyes, and from his stance and position she guessed he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. Remembering what Viktor had done to ease his entry, she grabbed a pillow and pushed it under her bottom, thus raising her hips up and creating an angle in her body that he could position himself against. 

Guiding him over her, she encouraged him to lean on her more heavily than he’d expected, reassuring him that she wouldn’t break, before slipping her hand between their bodies to guide him inside her, then feeling him take over and thrust fully inside her, filling her with a shout of satisfaction. 

He placed his palms on the bed, at either side of her head, and she dropped hers to his narrow hips, encouraging them to move in a rhythm that he soon began to follow, his body filling in the gaps with its own natural instinct, and he clenched his teeth as he thrust into her, gaining in confidence with every stroke. 

“Severus,” she whispered, and he lifted his head to look her in the eyes. “This is amazing.”

And it truly was. From her rather unpleasant experience with Viktor, through the frustratingly sporadic sexual contact they’d had over the last few weeks, had now lead to this. Lead to her dark professor labouring above her, building her pleasure to a second peak with devastatingly deep and sensual thrusts, his intense eyes boring into her very soul.

She felt him change the angle of his thrusts, hitting the sweet spot deep inside that he’d found for her just a few short weeks ago. 

“That’s it,” she gasped, “please, fuck me just there, just there ...”

Severus felt her writhe beneath him, and he was once again the cause of her pleasure. Only this time, he was there too. He was naked with a woman for the first time in his life, and he was an active participant in their lovemaking, for surely an experience such as this was more than just sex?

He rested on one elbow and forearm, his other arm scooping up her thigh to wrap her leg around him, opening her further, and he began to piston in to her, feeling his climax building, wanting to give her everything he had. 

“Fucking Merlin,” he bit out, his hair swinging in his face with the speed of his thrusts, his teeth bared with effort and determination. 

“Now, it’s now, please ...!” she panted, and he felt her tight walls begin to contract around his cock. 

She was coming. He had fucked her to orgasm. The thought pushed him over the edge and he joined her, shouting his release and releasing his seed inside her in hot bursts. 

Oh, oh, ohhhh. 

As they came down from their combined peaks, she pushed his hair from his sweaty face, trailing a fingertip around his features. 

“Can you reach your wand?” she asked. 

Oops. He immediately comprehended, rolling off her and reaching for his wand on the bedside cabinet, belatedly casting a contraceptive charm over her abdomen before summoning a spare, clean sheet from the armoire, which he brought to flutter down over their heated bodies. 

“Sleep, then dinner?” he suggested, wearily. 

When she didn’t answer, he looked over at her. She was already asleep, holding fast to his hand. 

He lay back on his cool pillow, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How he had lived all his adult life thus far without sex, he had no fucking idea.

Chapter 15

Awakening to see nothing outside the windows but the pitch-black mantle of night, Hermione was glad of the soft golden glow from the small fireplace dancing around the bedchamber. She had no idea how long they had slept for, although she felt well rested so supposed it had been a fair while. 

She looked over at her professor, now simply Severus to her, looking younger and less burdened in his slumber. He was flat on his back, his raven hair in disarray on the white pillow, his mouth slackened with sleep and he was breathing very heavily through his large nose. One pale arm was slung almost casually behind his head, and the other was flat on the bed by his side, fingers slightly under his bum. 

Taking the opportunity to study him whilst he was unaware, she noted that the heavy lines that marred his features were softer when at rest, his jaw was unclenched, although his eyelids had visible red and purple veins on their surface, as if he had not slept properly for a long time. His bare chest rose and fell with his breaths, and she itched to reach out and gently stroke it, to toy with the sparse black hair that covered his white skin, and circle his dark nipples with her fingertip. 

The thought made itself known between her legs, where a not-entirely-unpleasant ache was beginning to throb, the aftermath of their lovemaking, no doubt, but also the desire for more. 

Without thinking too much about it, she moved closer to him, breathing in his unique smell that was now mingled with her own, and touched his chest. He did not stir, so she began to explore everything that for so long had been secreted below the inky confines of his buttoned-up, all black attire, touching and stroking the taut muscles, tracing the lines of the few scars that she found there and wondering how he received them. 

Moving down towards his slightly softer stomach, she saw it flinch as she laid her hand down, so she stroked more firmly so as not to tickle him. That, and the fact he had let out a couple of low, quiet moans, suggested to her that he was no longer fully asleep, and was probably wondering what she was going to do next. 

A noticeable twitch came from under the sheet that was slung casually over his hips, so she slowly pushed it down, exposing his thatch of coarse pubic hair and a penis that she presumed was mid-way between flaccid and erect. There was no way she wasn’t going to touch it. Hermione slid her hand further down and began to stroke the velvety soft skin of his cock, running her fingertips along the surface, feeling the veins and ridges beneath them and the whole shaft begin to harden. 

Taking hold of him in a light grip, she began to slide her hand up and down; unfamiliar with exactly what she was doing. Without word or warning, he grabbed hold of her hand, enclosing it with his own, his penis trapped inside both their palms, she hoped not painfully. 

“Should I presume that the time for sleep is at an end?”

She leaned forwards and kissed his stomach, laying her head upon it, and felt him reach down with his other hand and tangle his fingers in her hair. 

“I can stop if you want me to.”

Hermione felt the deep rumble of a growl through his chest as well as hearing it, and he tightened his hand around hers, beginning a firm wank on his almost fully-erect cock, guiding her movements and showing her how he liked to be touched. 

“I take it that means; don’t stop?” she teased, lifting her head from his stomach so she could look at his face, which was contorted with sexual pleasure.

“Teasing little witch,” he drawled. “As if I would want you to stop.”

She continued to masturbate him, following the guidance of his large hand moving over her small one, until he was hard and red in her grip, drips of white fluid visible at the head of his cock. Hermione leaned forwards and licked them off. She wasn’t sure what had possessed her to do it, but the cry of shock from Severus made her pleased she had. 

He removed her hand from his penis, pulling her up so her head was level with his own, and tumbled her back on to the pillow. 

“That wasn’t wrong, was it?”

“Not at all. I feel it may have quickly reached a conclusion sooner than either of us expected. But at this moment, Granger, I need to fuck you again, if you will permit it? I can think of nothing else other than how sublime it feels to be inside you.”

The mixture of his extreme formality with such a filthy word as fuck was an arousing dichotomy, and she felt a pulse of interest between her legs. 

“I want it too.”

“Thank Merlin for that.”

He sounded relieved, and immediately clambered over her again, assuming the same position as they’d taken a few hours, or however long it was, earlier. He edged her thighs apart with his own, pushing himself into place between them and using his hand to guide his erection to nudge against her opening, dipping the hard tip inside as if to test his positioning. 

Seemingly satisfied, he rose above her, his hips fixed in position and looking down his hooked nose with a black fire in his eyes, told her; “Thank you.”

“There is no reason to thank me, Severus. I want this just as much as you do.”

At her words, he exclaimed loudly, and thrust himself inside her wet channel, pushing in as far he could before pulling back out and thrusting again. He was more confident, more assured, this time. He had fucked her three times now, the last one being an experience he could only describe as making love. He knew what to do now, and by Merlin he wanted to do it again and again, and as many times more as she would let him. 

She was exquisite. This tiny witch that lay beneath him, a curly mass of brown hair spread over his pillows like a fluffy halo. Her brown eyes were alert and filled with arousal, and the blush on her cheeks spread to her chest and further. She wanted him. His young, beautiful student, as wrong as it was, wanted him. He knew not why, but at present it was enough that she did. 

He leaned forwards to kiss her soundly, confident enough in his position to slip his hands behind her neck and shoulders and plunge his tongue into her waiting mouth, swirling it around hers, assuring her of his regard and attraction. 

Hermione had reached up and was clutching at his back as if she were trying to draw him deeper, urge him faster. He moaned into her mouth and gave her a particularly vicious thrust which made her gasp.

“Fuck, witch, you are too much. You are an absolute fucking pleasure, Hermione.”

He pushed up on his arms so that he could look down on her again as he sped up his thrusts, his hips doubling their pace as he felt the tell-tale tightness in his balls that meant his completion was imminent. 

She looked up at him with honest, innocent eyes.

“It’s all for you ... Sir.”

Wench.

Severus could hold off no longer, and began to piston into her mercilessly, shouting his approval as she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his body, pulling his hips tight as he thrust against them. He could feel the sweat slick between their joined bodies as he stiffened and came, spurting helplessly inside her. 

Merlin. 

How he had lived all his adult life thus far without sex, he had no fucking idea. 

As he deep-breathed his way down from his peak, she was gently pushing his long hair back from his face, and the tender gesture sent a pang to his cold heart. 

“You did not come. I apologise.”

“What for? I don’t care. That was so good.”

“But you should ...”

She silenced him with a finger on his lips.

“Ssh. No one is keeping score.”

He rolled back onto his own pillow, utterly satiated, and was gratified when she moved alongside him, putting her head on his shoulder and draping an arm across his chest. 

“Do you know what the time is?”

He cast the tempus charm.

“It is almost ten thirty. I regret to say that your curfew is almost upon us, and you have missed dinner, where no doubt your absence was noted by the holiday staff.”

“I don’t care.”

“That is rather petulant for you, Miss Granger.”

“But I really don’t. I’m certainly not hungry.”

Her stomach chose that moment to let rip with a loud growl that made a mockery of her denial of hunger, and he smirked at her sheepish expression.

“Maybe just a little. You are very distracting, Severus.”

“I have a small staff kitchen. Shall I make us something?”

“Ooh, yes please.”

She sat up cross-legged next to him, idly toying with the hair on his forearms. He cleared his throat.

“You realise that if you stay for supper, that curfew will have passed?”

She looked at him, as if weighing something up. 

“I want to stay.”

He took a sharp intake of breath, on one hand desperately wanting to agree and bolt his chamber door for the next fortnight, but on the other knowing what terrible trouble this could lead to for the two of them. 

“I want you to stay,” he heard himself replying, and could not bear to add a ‘but’.

He wanted her to stay, to spend all night with him here in his bed, keeping her all to himself, shutting out the world, shutting out reality, even if only for one night. They would deal with the repercussions tomorrow. 

\- xxx –

Hermione was sitting on the worktop in the tiny kitchen that she had been surprised to find through a small door leading off from his private office. He’d explained that all staff quarters came with one, in order that professors may eat at any hour they wished, and not be dictated to by school meal times, especially during holidays and at weekends. 

She had watched him brew a simple pot of tea with the same precision and attention he’d always shown in the Potions laboratory, whilst cheese on toast bubbled merrily under the eye-level grill, smelling amazing to her hungry stomach. 

He was wearing his undershorts and a plain black t-shirt, and his long legs were bare. She’d purloined another of the black t-shirts, for he had several, and was wearing nothing but that after a fruitless search for the knickers that her professor had pulled off her a few hours previously. 

Severus watched Hermione, still seated on the worktop looking around his little staff kitchen as she had finished her toast and tea, as he sat on a stool drinking the last of his. She was luminous. She was the one chink of light in his entire dark world. And yet for all the poetry of his thoughts, he couldn’t forget that he had a stunning young witch sitting in his kitchen wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and with no fucking knickers on. 

She looked up and caught his eye, and he could only presume he’d been looking at her with his desires written all over his face, as she hopped down from the work surface and stepped over to him, pushing herself to stand between his legs, which he opened for her, resting one bare foot on the floor to steady himself. 

“Kiss me. Please.”

He didn’t need telling twice, the remainder of the tea forgotten as he swept his arms around her and pulled her close enough to seek out her mouth, teasing it open with small pecks before slipping his tongue inside and flickering it around her lips, enjoying the little gasps he was eliciting from her. He felt her hands move up around his neck and begin to knead little circles with her knuckles on the sensitive skin there, sliding her fingertips into his hair and pulling gently. 

As the kiss became a full-on snog and more heated, he ran his hands down her back to the hem of the t-shirt, pulling it up to feel her bare arse beneath, helping himself to a pert cheek in each hand and squeezing, lifting her up higher to him. Her grip on him tightened. 

Severus moved his right hand around her hips to feel for her mound, slipping in between their bodies and pushing his fingers between the lips of her unclothed pussy. She made a little sound in his mouth and opened her legs wider, allowing him more room to access her most sensitive parts. He toyed with her outer lips, pushing a fingertip into her vagina, when he suddenly knew exactly what he wanted to do. He stopped kissing and held her by the upper arms. 

“Up on the worktop.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is not a lesson, Granger, I am not inviting questions. Up on the worktop, lean back against the wall.”

She seemed confused, but complied nonetheless, hopping back up onto the counter after he had cleared it with a flick of his wand. 

“Bring your knees up and open your legs,” he instructed, smiling devilishly as the comprehension finally showed in her eyes. 

He remained seated on the stool, directly between her legs, his prick swelling at an alarming rate at the sight of her pink genitals exposed so completely before his eyes. Luckily he was only wearing soft undershorts that gave a little freedom of movement ... or expansion. Severus remembered the last time he had been seated between her legs, and how he had so urgently wanted to take his time back then, to caress her skin, to taste her. 

He stroked his long fingers up and down the creamy skin of her inner thighs, enjoying the way her pussy twitched as he approached it, her eyes full of lust. Pulling her hips towards him, he leaned his face towards her, extending his rapier sharp tongue to take his first taste of her, his first taste of a woman. 

Hermione squealed at the first touch, and grabbed hold of her own knees to steady herself. He took hold of her labia and pulled them gently apart, exposing more of her delicious cunt to his view.   
Fucking hell. It was a feast before him like no other. 

Beginning to lick between her spread labia, he started with small, short strokes but soon moving to long, languorous slides of his tongue up and down her, not able to get enough of the intoxicating taste and smell – it was like nothing on earth. As he began to swirl around her clitoris, she grabbed hold of his hair, massaging his head, urging him on. 

“Oh, gosh ... oh, Severus ... please don’t stop ... please.”

“Hermione, I have no intention of stopping until you come all over my tongue,” he replied, his lips brushing against her pussy with every word. 

Ohhhh ...

His words had given her permission to let go, and he loved the sounds she was making. Her hips were beginning to move involuntarily, hopping around on the worktop, and he held her more tightly, not wanting his mouth to lose contact with that luscious, wet cunt for a second. 

Concentrating on her clit, Severus lashed his tongue back and forth so that the hard little bud wiggled beneath it, and he pushed a finger inside, wanting to feel her clamp down on him as she came. Emboldened, he slipped another digit down to her puckered rear end, just tickling the skin around it, and she screamed in surprise. He knew she had liked it, as his inserted finger had just been covered with a stream of her juice that was now on his outer knuckle. 

“Merlin ... Circe ... I’m going to ... I think ...”

The little witch was about to gift him with yet another orgasm. Sucking her clitoris into his mouth he felt and heard her release, she was pulsing around his mouth, fingers and chin, grinding her divine cunt against his face. 

He stood up, and his face was wet with her juices. She wiped her hand around his lips before kissing him again, tasting herself this time, and it was not unpleasant, mixed with the taste of his kisses. Her foot brushed against his erection, so she used both sets of toes to push down his shorts and shuffled to the edge of the worktop. 

He raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Here in the kitchen?”

“Most definitely.”

“You will be the death of me.”

“You started it. I only wanted a snack.”

“I daresay my snack was far tastier than yours,” he quipped, his face full of dark humour. 

“Too much talking, Professor.”

“You are a nightmare, Miss Granger. How does anyone put up with your impatience?”

“You’re still talking.”

He gave a shout of mock-annoyance, and guided his swollen prick into her waiting pussy, wet and open on his own staff kitchen worktop. Well, he’d certainly never be able to cook in here again without remembering this moment. 

She crossed her legs behind his back, using her feet to press against his arse cheeks and push him further inside her. He grabbed hold of her arse and did the same, ramming her against him, sucking and biting on her neck since it was right there and so desirable. 

“What the hell ... are we doing?” he panted, not letting up on the strength or pace of his thrusts. 

“Shagging in your kitchen ... I think.”

“Cheeky wench.”

“Your cheeky wench.”

His?

He pistoned in to her, fucking her as if he hadn’t done this three times in the last few hours, more sex than he’d had the entire rest of his life, in one night. Severus doubted there was much left to give, but he gave it anyway, ignoring the pain in his knee and the ache in his back. His prick was well and truly demanding its long-awaited moment in the sun. 

She was his?

Jerking his come inside her as he thrust for the final time, he knew he was done for, physically and mentally, for the night. He felt his erection subside and it slipped from her, and he cast a cleansing charm across both of them. 

“The contraceptive charm lasts for twenty-four hours.”

“I know. I do listen in my classes.”

“Don’t I know it, Granger. Now, since you are refusing to leave, may I take you to bed?”

She smiled in acquiescence, and he picked her up from the kitchen worktop as if she weighed nothing at all, carrying her through to the bedchamber and drawing back the bedclothes with a wandless spell before placing her in the centre of the bed and climbing in beside her. He was gratified to feel her curl up under his arm and plant a kiss on his chest, which he returned by dropping one to her forehead. 

They were just like any other couple retiring to bed on any other night. 

Except they weren’t. 

She was a young girl, only just of age, with a brilliant mind and her whole future ahead of her. And she was his student. He was a surly old professor, twenty years her senior and a Death Eater to boot. He tried not to think about any of it, because if he did, it made his heart hurt in a way he’d never felt before. 

Please be mine, Hermione.

Let me have one thing in this wretched world that I can call my own.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Naked with the Dark Arts professor, Miss Granger. Aren’t you scared?”

Chapter 16

Severus awoke as the grey light of early morning was threading through the narrow windows of his bedchamber. He looked down at the tousled head that was still tucked under his arm, her brown curls spilling across the pale, imperfect flesh of his chest. For just a short while, he would revel in the feeling of awakening next to an angel. He would soon have to return her, lest her absence be missed any more than it already had, but for now … he could spare a few minutes. 

He stroked his long fingers down her narrow back, feeling the soft fabric of the black t-shirt she had borrowed from him the previous evening, before reaching the curve of her spine where the garment had ridden up during the night, allowing him access to her bare skin and the cleft of her arse. He traced little circles with the very tips of his fingers and burrowed his long nose into the abundance of hair just below his chin, kissing her gently awake with as much tenderness as he could muster. 

If only this were real. If only he could truly awaken to this every morning, to a witch who cared enough to wrap her entire body around him, keeping him safe, showing him affection. If only his current self-chosen path was not his lot in life. If only he were … normal. 

“Hi,” she mumbled, turning in his arm and pushing her hair out of the way so she could see his face. 

“Good morning.”

“Do I have to go?”

He sighed, deeply. 

“I wish I could say no, but regrettably it is time that you made an appearance in the Great Hall for meals and to show your face around the school.”

“I know, we have to be careful. As much as I want to lock the door and stay in here with you for two weeks, we cannot fall at the first hurdle.”

His heart leapt at her words. Why this girl seemed to mirror all his own feelings he knew not, but her simple honesty cheered him. And he was not a wizard used to being cheered by anything. He pushed himself up to a sitting position as Hermione hopped from the large bed, gathering her clothes from around the bedchamber where he had scattered them the previous evening, and remarkably found it just as erotic to watch her putting clothes on as he had taking them off. 

Without hesitation she pulled off his black t-shirt and slipped into her brassiere, fastening it deftly behind her back before pulling on her jeans, sans underpants. 

“No knickers, Miss Granger?” he quizzed, raising one interested eyebrow in her direction. 

“I still can’t find them. I suppose they’ll have to join the red pair I left in here before. You’ll soon be amassing quite a collection of my underthings,” she teased. 

“Indeed. I shall look forward to it.”

As she slipped her jumper and shoes back on, he rose from the bed and dressed himself in yesterday’s clothes with a few waves of his wand. 

“Impressive.”

“A temporary solution. I shall be returning here to shower momentarily.”

“I’d … I’d like to shower with you, Sir … Severus.”

His cock leapt to immediate attention inside his trousers, and he slunk towards her like a languid panther, encircling her in his long arms. 

“That is something I should like too, Hermione. Not this morning, as we do not have time, but rest assured it will happen, and on more than one occasion, if I have any say in the matter.”

He tipped his head to the side, his long black hair falling onto her shoulder, and caught her mouth, pressing chaste but coaxing kisses to lift her lips, pulling her close against him. She felt the tell-tale tug of Apparition, and they were both standing in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, cold and dark without the heat and light of the fire, and quite empty. 

“I still don’t understand how you are able to Apparate around the school.”

He shot her a slightly arrogant smirk.

“You would not believe me, even if I explained it.”

“Try me.”

“No. Some things are not for your ears. Now. If you would kindly go to your dormitory and call me from there, with the door open, I can Apparate you directly in there next time. I presume that the stairs to the female dormitories work in the same way as the Slytherin ones?”

“You mean do they turn into a slide if a boy tries to climb them? Oh yes.”

He nodded. 

“Off you go, then.”

“You’re hardly a boy, Professor,” she smiled, reaching out her hand to boldly cup his still semi-interested cock through his trousers.

He placed his hand over hers to keep it in place, for the feeling of her small hand grasping his large prick, even through the thick material of his trousers, was most pleasurable.

“Nonetheless, as you can feel, I have the equipment of a male, and will be identified as such by the magic imbued in the staircases,” he smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief, “and I am far too old and decrepit to enjoy an early-morning trip down a slide.”

Hermione laughed at the thought of the dour wizard whizzing down a child’s slide, and popped a quick kiss on his lips, enjoying the surprise on his face at the unexpected show of affection. She headed towards the stairs that led to the girls’ sixth-year dormitory, calling him when she reached the door, so he could look up the stairwell and locate the room. In a split-second he was beside her, standing in the circular dormitory she shared with the other female sixth-year Gryffindors; Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown.

“Your bed?” he enquired, plopping down on the nearest one. 

Hermione looked at him curiously, finding her austere DADA professor sitting on her personal bed amongst her things a most unusual and unexpected sight. Gone was his severe classroom persona, his permanent scowl and his arrogance; these had been replaced by a man not yet in middle age, lacking in confidence, and looking unnerved by his forbidden presence in the bedroom of a young woman. 

She stepped towards him, pushing between his knees as he sat, and hugged his head and shoulders to her chest, stroking his thin hair with her fingertips. She felt him exhale deeply and lean into her. 

“I have to leave,” he sighed. 

“You do.”

“I do not want to.”

“I will see you later?” she asked.

He pulled back and looked up at her from his seated position on her single, standard Hogwarts four-poster student bed.

“Miss Granger, if I do not see you later, I shall comb every inch of this castle until I find you.”

She tugged him to his feet and wrapped her arms around his slim waist. 

“Don’t worry, Sir, I’ll make myself very easy to find.”

“You’d better,” he growled, dipping his head to kiss the enticing rosebud of her mouth. 

Unsurprisingly, the kiss lasted far longer than it should have done, and was only interrupted by the distant clanging of the breakfast bell from the Great Hall. With a snort of annoyance, he placed a final kiss to her forehead and Apparated soundlessly away.

Smiling, she turned and headed downstairs to the portrait hole, not bothering to change her clothes or brush her hair, pulling it back into a low, messy ponytail as she walked. As she left Gryffindor Tower, she was immediately accosted by Madam Wallasey, an older witch from Hogsmeade who was one of the ancillary staff that worked at Hogwarts during the school holidays. 

“Miss Granger!” Madam Wallasey called, “I was just coming to find you, dear. We did not see you for dinner last night and I could not get any answer when I knocked at your dormitory?”

As if you haven’t been waiting in the corridor to catch me out for the last hour, Hermione thought, annoyed, but smiling sweetly to cover her less-than-saccharine thoughts, suddenly very grateful for Severus Apparating her back to the common room rather than walking back through the corridors as they had done before. 

“I’m sorry, Madam Wallasey. I had a headache and went to bed early with a sleeping potion, I doubt I would have heard you.”

“Ah, I see, dear. Anyway, let’s get some breakfast inside you? It’s a full English today, first day of the holidays and everything.”

Hermione smiled weakly and allowed herself to be led to the Great Hall by the elderly witch, where a single long house table was laid for the fifteen-or-so students who were resident during the holidays. All were Ravenclaws, although there were three sulky-looking Slytherins who were so alike they must be brothers. A quick glance at the staff table showed that no professors were down for breakfast, all were no doubt taking the opportunity of either a lie-in or a quiet breakfast in their chambers. 

She imagined eating breakfast with Severus in his small staff kitchen or at the half-size dining table in the lounge side of his office. That would be far better than sitting here with students she didn’t know nor care for. At least the food was good, a full English with bacon, eggs, sausage, mushrooms and tomatoes, accompanied by plenty of hot toast, and she was far hungrier than she’d anticipated. Perhaps sex worked up an appetite, she grinned to herself, then quickly doused it with a mouthful of toast, mindful that sitting there with an inane grin on her face was a sure-fire way to arouse suspicion. 

-xxx-

Showered and changed, and with a fresh set of underwear now in situ, Hermione headed for the library, an armful of books in hand and several pieces of homework in her newly expanded school book bag. The library was deserted when she arrived, apart from Madam Pince, who was behind her desk as always. Hermione bid her good morning, and found one of her favourite spots by a large window that looked out over the grounds and down towards the Quidditch pitch. 

She had been so engrossed in her work that she didn’t notice Madam Pince approach her from behind and take a seat next to her. 

“Miss Granger.”

Hermione jumped, and the book she was reading fell from the library table and on to the floor. Madam Pince immediately levitated it with her wand and returned it to the table top, checking it rather unnecessarily for damage before beginning to speak. 

“One of the holiday staff came to see me last night, Miss Granger.”

Hermione swallowed hard, keeping quiet and simply nodding in order that the librarian would continue so she could work out exactly how much trouble she might be in. 

“One of those Hogsmeade witches. She was very keen to know where you were, since you had not arrived in the Great Hall for dinner.”

“I … er …”

Madam Pince regarded her favourite student over the top of her pince-nez spectacles, which was not hard, since the glasses were so small and her hooked nose was so large. 

“I replied that you had been studying here all afternoon until after dark, and most probably retired to bed early. I trust that you were nowhere that would cause my answer to arouse suspicion?”

Hermione breathed an audible sigh of relief. 

“No, Madam Pince. I was … I mean, I did go to bed early. Before dinner.”

The librarian arched her eyebrow in a way that reminded her a little scarily of Professor Snape. 

“In your own bed?”

Caught unawares by the question, Hermione flushed scarlet, her tongue tied. 

Madam Pince reached out and patted her arm.

“Miss Granger, we have all been young once. You are of age, and the school is on holiday. As far as I am concerned, your business is your own. Whatever you are doing, and I have my suspicions, is your own affair. But I entreat you to take care. The castle walls have eyes and ears. You would not want to place yourself, or anyone else, in an untenable position.”

“Thank you, Madam Pince. I understand. I intend to take even greater care from now on.”

The black-haired witch seemed satisfied. She was almost smiling as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a long key on a green ribbon, which she handed to Hermione, who took it, confused. 

“This is the spare key to this library.”

Hermione gasped. The key to the library?

“There is no student in this school to which I would entrust unsupervised access to this library other than yourself. You may use it for private research and study whenever you wish throughout the holidays. I shall be in the castle from time to time, but mostly I will be spending the Christmas holidays at my home in Hogsmeade village. I want you to always have access to the library if you need it. If you lock the door from the inside with the key, you cannot be disturbed.”

There was an awful lot that was not being said. Madam Pince was giving her not only unrestricted access to the library, an amazing privilege in itself; but also, a ready-made excuse for her whereabouts, at any time over the holidays. 

“Thank you, Madam Pince. I appreciate your trust in me,” she replied, genuinely touched by the often-severe witch’s understanding. 

Pince rose heavily from her seat next to Hermione. 

“Make sure you use it well. I shall not be covering for you again, Miss Granger, is that clear?”

“Absolutely clear.”

The librarian nodded once, sharply, and returned to her desk, where she was inspecting books and returning them one-by-one to the shelves with her wand. Hermione swivelled in her seat and dropped her head to her work, not at all able to hide the grin that was spreading across her face. 

-xxx-

Severus had finally been tempted out of his room by hunger, and by the lack of any meaningful provisions in his staff kitchen. He was seated at the top table on the dais in the Great Hall, pretending to listen to Filius prattle on about the choir practices he was effecting during the holiday period, and resolutely ignoring Albus who was still in relentlessly cheery mood, ebulliently talking to Poppy Pomfrey in a loud voice. 

The student table was below them, a meagre bunch made up of a dozen earnest Ravenclaws and the three Drewery brothers from Slytherin house. He supposed he should find out how the boys were doing, but fuck that, he was on holiday and the little shits were in the care of the ancillary staff. If he had holidayed out of the castle he wouldn’t be seeing them, so he didn’t see what was different just because he had decided to stay here. 

The door crashed open, and Hagrid entered, happily in conversation with none other than Miss Granger – his Hermione. She was red-faced and smiling, clearly she had just been outside with the giant gamekeeper. He’d never tell anyone, but he had a lot of time for Hagrid. 

Rubeus was a member of the Order, and knew of Severus’ missions and what they entailed. Many times, when he had arrived back at the castle, too weak to walk or Apparate himself, Rubeus had ensured that help was summoned, or carried Snape’s damaged body to the infirmary himself. Most importantly, the hairy half-giant never mentioned any of it to anyone. For this service alone, he deserved Severus’ respect. 

Rubeus joined the skeleton staff at high table, and Hermione joined the other students. He could not keep his eyes from her. She had on another pair of those tight jeans that cupped her peach of an arse, warm boots, a fitted grey jumper that showed off every curve, and a pink scarf around her neck that she loosened as she sat down, pushing back the loose curls that had sprung from her ponytail. 

He wanted her, now. 

Shit. He felt his cock begin to harden under the table and breathed deeply through his large nostrils, attempting to send blood and oxygen to other vital parts of his body rather than just the appendage that was threatening to burst his zip. What was happening to him? He’d been a virgin for thirty-seven years and now he was, what; a kind of sex addict?

He looked up surreptitiously through his curtain of hair, a trick that had served him well from this table, over the years, his black eyes camouflaged by the identical colour of his long hair. 

Granger was luminous. Despite no other Gryffindors being on the table, she was attempting to initiate conversation with the other students, even with the surly Stratton Drewery who was the youngest by a long way and clearly missing his mother. Dishes were being passed around and she was eating well, so he copied her, loading his plate and savouring the crisp snap of the mustard seasoning on the cooked ham.

She was alluring. Her face was glowing with natural good health, not a scrap of make-up or hair product to be seen. Her smile was infectious and he could listen to her laugh forever. He made himself want to puke. What kind of lovesick dullard was he?   
He still wanted her, though. 

Hermione looked up from the student table to sneak a look at Severus, under pretence of a casual look around the Great Hall. His eyes quickly averted and she suspected he had been covertly staring right at her. Did he want her as much as she wanted him? She had been apart from him all morning and it was now early afternoon, for lunch had been served later than usual due to the holidays. Was it right to want to be with someone this much? Was this lust, or desperation? Or both? 

Pudding was being served. Peach tart with ice cream. She didn’t want it. Her stomach was already full after the first course. But she was empty somewhere else, and she knew what she did want. Excusing herself from the table, she laid her napkin on her finished plate and left the Great Hall, not really sure where she meant to go, only that her feet were headed vaguely towards the Defence classroom and most certainly not towards the library, nor Gryffindor Tower. 

Severus watched her go, as did everyone else. He could not leave high table, it would be too obvious, especially to Albus who was now trying to catch his eye. Fuck you, old man, I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. 

He resolutely served a large slice of peach tart onto his pudding dish, and forced himself to begin eating it. He would not be the next person to leave this hall. Everyone had seen Granger’s early exit and he could not, under any circumstances, been seen to follow her. 

Fifteen long minutes later, when most of the students had left and Albus had declared lunch over, Severus swept from the table at what he felt was a moderate pace, swirling his black robes around himself to conceal any traces of erection that may be remaining, although the interminable waiting had killed most of it, and headed towards his classroom, hoping fervently that she had headed there. 

Entering the room, his heart sank to find it empty. 

He slammed the door behind him and stalked up the room between the desks, heading for the dozen stairs that led to the entrance to his private chambers. As he reached the top, she shimmered into view, lifting her disillusionment charm.

“I’m sorry” she breathed, “I couldn’t wait.”

He stared down at her, his expression halfway between questioning and incredulous. He kicked open the office door and grasped her firmly around the waist, pulling her against him. 

“You, Granger,” he growled, “have nothing to be sorry for.”

With one smooth movement he swept them both into his private office, closing the door behind them and pushing her against it, held there by the weight of his body, his chest starting to heave with excited breaths. 

“I wanted you as soon as you walked into the Great Hall. It took all of my control not to follow you when you left.”

“I wanted you to,” she admitted, slipping her arms around his neck. 

“That cannot be seen to happen,” he replied, sternly.

“I know. I do know that. I just … want to be with you.”

“And I you, Hermione. I am quite taken aback by my need to be with you.”

“Then kiss me.”

“It would be my very great pleasure.”

He stood up straight and placed his hands against the heavy wooden door, on either side of her head, leaning towards her with a devilishly wicked smile on his face as she pulled him nearer, her lips twitching for the touch of his. He swiped his lips across hers, twice, and again, teasing them both, making them both wait for what they both desired. 

Eventually with a loud groan of delighted resignation, he locked his mouth on hers, his tongue dancing across her lips to entice her to open herself to him, to open fully to his searching tongue that he pushed inside her mouth and rolled around hers, sucking her deep unto him, wanting to consume her entirely. As he kissed her, her hands grasped little handfuls of his long hair behind his head, arousing the sensitive nerve endings there and driving him higher. 

“May I take you to bed, Hermione?” he rumbled gruffly into her ear, having kissed a wet path from her mouth across her cheek. 

“Yes, Severus. Please do,” she gasped, raising her eyes to the raftered ceiling as he kissed from her ear down the tender cords of her neck and biting softly in the dip he found there. 

Once again, he scooped her up, lifting her from the floor as if she may fly away if he broke contact with her. From her position, held safe in his arms, she looked up at him, his face set and serious as he squired her into the bedchamber, wandlessly locking and warding the door closed behind them. He set her down next to the bed, bidding her to sit down, and he knelt and removed her outdoor boots and socks before standing straight again and pulling her to her feet. There was a noticeable height difference between them. 

“I want to strip you naked,” he told her, in a gruff voice. “Will you allow it?”

She only smiled in response as he gently pulled the loose pink cotton scarf from around her neck and let it slither to the floor, before taking the hem of her jumper and pulling it up and over her head in one fluid movement, running his hands down the front of her body as soon as the jumper had joined the scarf on the floor. 

He stroked all over her covered breasts, her bare stomach, her arms – as if reacquainting himself with the feel of her flesh. 

“I wanted to touch you,” he rumbled, “I wanted to touch you and I could not.”

“You can now.”

“Yes. I can now. I can now.”

His hands moved to the fastening of her tight jeans and began to undo them, pushing them down past her hips and thighs once he had succeeded. 

“Always with the tight jeans, Granger.”

“Are you complaining?”

“To look at? Of course not. They frame your round little arse like a succulent peach that I wish to devour. To take off? They delay me.”

She laughed, and surprisingly, he joined her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard such a sound pass his lips. 

“You should laugh more often.”

He looked up at her, from where he was kneeling on the floor, having pulled the jeans past her knees. 

“I rarely have reason to laugh.”

“That is sad.”

“I am used to it.”

He tugged the jeans off each of her feet, running his hands sensuously up and down her legs, the front, the back, and in-between, enjoying feeling her flinch in pleasure as he reached her inner thighs. He allowed his long fingers to pass over the damp seat of her knickers, and was gratified to hear her gasp in pleasure. 

Without warning, he grasped each side of her underwear and pulled them straight down to her ankles, leaning forward to kiss her pubic mound, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her that he was beginning to become addicted to. As she stepped out of them, he stood up, reaching around her to unhook her brassiere, which was surprisingly easy, he needn’t have worried, and allowed it to slip forward down her arms, spilling her breasts into his eager, waiting hands. 

He massaged them, one in each palm, thumbing her nipples, enjoying the weight of her warm, soft tits in his safe, steady hands. Leaning forward to kiss and lick her cheek, he breathed into her ear. 

“Naked with the Dark Arts professor, Miss Granger. Aren’t you scared?”

She took one of his hands from her breast, and moved it between her legs, rubbing his fingers against the wetness that was collecting there at his touch. 

“Do I feel scared, Sir?” she teased. 

“Merlin. Fucking Merlin. I need to fuck you, little witch.”

“You’d better take some clothes off then, Severus.”

“I cannot wait.”

She pushed him back slightly so she could meet his eye. 

“Then don’t,” she goaded. 

“Fucking teasing little wench.”

He picked her up and threw her roughly on the bed, and she scrambled up on the pillows with him in hot pursuit. He covered her body with his own, fully dressed in his buttoned-up frock coat and full teaching robes. Holding himself above her with one arm, whilst reaching down to release his cock with the other hand, he attempted to plant messy kisses on her wet lips while he did so. 

Hermione slipped one hand down and assisted him to remove his penis from the fly of his trousers, running his thumb across the tip and feeling him hot and leaking already. She opened her legs wider and guided him to her entrance, where he gave a wicked thrust to seat himself fully inside her. 

“Ohh … fuck!” she gasped in pleasured surprised.

“That was my intention,” he drawled, steadying himself on both hands, looming above her like a vampire bat in full cloak. 

She placed her hands softly on his shoulders, the sheer naughtiness of him making love to her whilst dressed in his full classroom teaching regalia being an unexpected but not unwelcome erotic sensation. 

“More … harder …” she breathed, already beginning to sweat under the layers of material that were draped around her. 

This witch was unbelievable. He sped up his thrusts, the good sense of fucking whilst fully dressed now starting to dawn on him as his body temperature increased significantly. 

However, it was no matter, he was so over-aroused that it was not likely to last long. Looking into her brown eyes, drunk with lust for him, was enough to push him over the edge of a very small cliff, pounding into her frantically, like a wizard possessed, and climaxing with a shout. He bared his teeth as he tipped the last few jerks inside her before falling to the side, red-faced and breathing heavily. 

She leaned up next to him on her elbow. 

“Can I strip you now?”

“Witch, do it now, before I expire.”

He was utterly relieved to feel the subtle cast of her Divesto over him as his clothing loosened itself and every stitch of it was removed, most likely to the floor, he cared not at present. His chest could now move unrestricted and he filled his lungs gratefully, glad that he could feel the scarlet flush on his face beginning to dissipate. 

“When you can breathe again, how about that shower?” Hermione asked, nodding towards the one door she had not yet explored in his chambers. 

“Very tempting. Do you have any other plans this afternoon?”

“I already did over four hours homework in the library this morning. I’m on holiday. I should be doing things that are fun,” she smiled. 

He couldn’t resist it. It was puerile, but who gave a fuck? “And is doing me, fun?”

“Doing you is the most fun I’ve ever had, Professor,” she replied, in such a mock-serious tone that they both laughed. 

He lifted his hand to her face, cupping her cheek. 

“I am not sure how I deserve to be here, with you …” he began, before he was cut off by an excruciating shot of pain in his left forearm. 

Fuck. NO. Not now. Please. 

He sat bolt upright, clutching his arm. Her eyes widened. Oh, she knew. 

“You have to go,” she said, sitting up and moving away from him across the bed as if to give him more room to move. 

“I do have to go. I have to go now.”

He jumped from the bed, summoning his Death Eater robes and clothing himself in them with a spell, holding his mask in his hand, he would not put it on until he left the school grounds, and certainly not in front of Hermione. He saw her shudder at the sight of him dressed this way, and he fixed his eyes on hers, willing her to understand that he was still the same person she was laughing with just a few minutes previously. 

He could not bear to kiss her goodbye whilst wearing these despicable clothes, he could not bear to even speak to her whilst he was aware of all he represented, standing before her and heading to an audience with Lord Voldemort. 

So, he said nothing. He tore his eyes from hers, leaving her naked on his bed, and swept out of the chamber door, Apparating directly to the front gate from his private office, as since Draco was not in school there was no need to conceal his ability to Apparate within Hogwarts. He opened the gate and stepped outside to the main Apparition point, and it was from here he would be able to travel elsewhere outside the castle walls. 

He touched his wand tip to the Dark Mark, and concentrated hard on the entrance to Malfoy Manor, and as he turned into his Apparition he was half-wondering what madness he would be landing into today, and the other half on whether Hermione would still be waiting for him in his chambers when he returned. 

If he returned. It was never completely certain.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You reek of sex, Severus. You dare to come before me with the scent of a slavering witch upon your body?”
> 
> Fuck. Voldemort might not have a nose but Merlin, the deranged bastard had a better sense of smell than a bloodhound.

Chapter 17

Severus landed on the gravelled approach to Malfoy Manor and immediately began stalking towards the tall, ornate gates that he hated with such passion. Walking this driveway had never led to anything good. Waving his wand in order that he may step through the wrought-iron gates as if they were made of smoke, he set his countenance to its usual impassively neutral expression, determined to give away nothing, to give no Death Eater an advantage over him. 

He was led by a surly-looking house-elf to Lucius Malfoy’s private office to find only a small meeting of the inner sanctum. This was clearly not a full meeting. Draco was thankfully not there, although he was undoubtedly around the house somewhere. Voldemort was seated behind the incarcerated Malfoy’s desk as if he owned it, and he was surrounded by possibly ten to twelve of his most trusted Death Eaters. Not that the snake-faced bastard actually trusted anyone. 

“Severusss,” Voldemort hissed, rising from his chair and approaching to stand directly in front of him. 

“My Lord,” Severus replied, dropping to his knee to take the hem of Voldemort’s robe and kiss it, as was expected, ignoring the painful crunch of his kneecap, still not fully mended, despite his best effort with healing spells. 

“Rise, Severus. I am eager to find out if you have news that pleases me?”

“There is nothing new, My Lord. Harry Potter has left Hogwarts for the holidays, and Dumbledore has been resolutely silent regarding their private meetings. I can only ascertain that there is some form of teaching taking place, at irregular intervals. At times, Dumbledore has been known to leave the castle, sometimes for days at a time. Despite my efforts, I have not been able to find out where he is going.”

“And why not?”

“Because,” Severus replied, carefully, “once Dumbledore leaves the castle, I am not able to follow him. I am duty-bound to remain within the school walls. With respect, My Lord, every time he has left, I have alerted my fellow Death Eater brothers to follow him, and they have been unable to locate him nor follow his path on each occasion.”

He heard a murmur of dissent from the gathered Death Eaters; clearly they were not happy at being implicated. He didn’t care. 

Take that, you fuckers, why should it only be me that bears the brunt of finding out every fucking thing that this madman wants to know? 

“You speak the truth, Severus.”

Voldemort turned to the others, their faces dark with trepidation. 

“Why have you not acted immediately when Severus has advised you that the old fool has left the castle? Why do I still not know where he goes, nor why?”

There was an incoherent mumbling as the motley crew struggled to answer. 

Voldemort sniffed the air, his snake-like nostrils picking up on the subtlest of scents. He raised his blood-red eyes to Severus, and looked at him accusingly. 

“You reek of sex, Severus. You dare to come before me with the scent of a slavering witch upon your body?”

Fuck. Voldemort might not have a nose but Merlin, the deranged bastard had a better sense of smell than a bloodhound.

“You are resident at the school over the holidays, Severussss?” 

His lip-less mouth split into a grotesque parody of a smile. 

“I am, My Lord.”

The smile became wider. 

“Then you are finally availing yourself of the students, as I advised many years ago?”

There was nothing for it. He allowed his own mouth to curl into a filthy smirk. 

“They are available, and willing. It is surprising how many young witches can be tempted by a little darkness from their professor.”

A whisper rippled around the room. Snape famously did not participate in rape during their many Revels, stating that he preferred a willing cunt than one taken by force. 

“Ssshow me.” 

Severus felt Voldemort penetrate his mind, already well-Occluded to protect the many secrets held within, and he offered up the memory of him fucking Hermione from behind, in her uniform, over the desk in the Defence classroom. He felt the Dark Lord salivate over what he saw, fixating on their conjoined genitals, and he sensed his arousal and lust over what he viewed to be Severus debauching his student. Snape was careful to ensure that Hermione’s identity was protected, and swore he would never tell her what he had been forced to reveal. 

Pulling out of his mind at length, Voldemort had a look of arousal and satisfaction on his face. 

“Very nice, Severussss. Very nice indeed. I trust that she is not a Slytherin student?”

“Of course not, My Lord.”

Without warning, Riddle’s lascivious smile disappeared and was replaced with a familiar, furious expression. 

“Next time, wipe her filth from your body prior to attending an audience before me. You are aware that my present form does not allow me to partake in sexual congress. I do not wish your louche behaviour to be so obscenely displayed before my very eyes. Crucio!”

The Cruciatus flew before Severus even knew what was happening, and the strength of the Dark Lord’s initial blow knocked him to the floor. He endured the curse for a few seconds, thankfully before his back started to curl in upon itself.   
Voldemort returned to his seat at the large desk with a swirl of his flowing robes. 

“Loyal followers. Show Severus exactly what happens to those who flaunt their sexual abilities before me without deference to my lack of ability to participate. No wands, I think.”

Severus knew he was in trouble as he heard heavy boots approach the spot where he lay on the floor. No doubt they were pissed off at him laying blame at their door and would extract an appropriate show of annoyance, having been given the go-ahead. 

“Not you, Bella. I need you to provide a … different ssservice. Up on the desk, and ssspread your legs. Lord Voldemort wishes to touch you, to slake his lust in the only way he can.”

Snape didn’t even hear the advent of delighted cries from Bellatrix as the first boot hit him in the gut. Bastards. His only consolation was that each one of them would be punished afterwards, for his accusation that they’d failed to locate Dumbledore when the headmaster had left the castle. 

Severus, however, knew how to take a Muggle beating. He’d had enough from his father, over the years, after all. He protected his head, and as many of his vital organs as he could, and waited for the ordeal to be over. 

-xxx-

After Professor Snape had left in such a hurry, Hermione had no qualms about staying in his rooms to wait for him. There was no way, knowing where he had gone, that she would allow him to return to his chambers to find them empty. She wondered whether he would be hurt, as she had seen before. Would he want to talk about what had happened? 

She opened one of the drawers in the chest and took out one of his black t-shirts, slipping it on over her nakedness, not wishing to get fully dressed again. For the sake of decency, she retrieved her knickers from the chamber floor and put those on too, and then ventured to the kitchenette to see what food he had stored there, for surely he would be in no fit state to attend dinner in the Great Hall that evening?

Opening and closing the cupboards she found nothing meaningful, although she did avail herself of the opportunity to make a cup of tea, thankfully there was a bottle of fresh milk. 

She was suddenly struck with an idea. 

“Dobby,” she hissed, feeling slightly stupid at speaking to thin air. 

The little elf cracked into the room immediately, dressed in a woolly hat that she had no doubt made herself during her awkward SPEW years. If he was surprised to see her, he did not show it. 

“Harry Potter’s friend!” he exclaimed, a broad smile upon his small face and his ears waggling madly. 

“Hi, Dobby. I need your help.”

“Dobby is always pleased to help a friend of Harry Potter, Miss.”

“Professor Snape has been Summoned, Dobby. Do you know what that means?”

Dobby’s ears drooped mournfully. 

“Dobby knows of this.”

“When he gets back, he’ll want to eat, I think. How can I do that, without making him go to the Great Hall?”

“Teachers can be ordering the school dinner to their chambers, Miss.”

“They can? Excellent. Can I order that for him?”

“You can, Miss. And one for yourself? Will Miss be eating with the professor?”

The fact that she was standing in Professor Snape’s private quarters wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a smile seemed not to affect Dobby. He was addressing her as if the situation were entirely normal.

“Erm, yes, if that’s ok? And, Dobby?”

“Yes Miss?”

“Dobby, no one should know that I am here in the professor’s quarters. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Dobby is understanding of secrets, Miss. Dobby will tell no one.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you. Thank you, Dobby.”

After the elf had Apparated away, promising to return later with their meal that he would place under a stasis charm so that it would be warm for whenever the professor returned, Hermione investigated the bathroom, not least to use the loo. It was a gorgeous room, with the standard Hogwarts flagstoned floor, a stone-walled shower that was huge, more than big enough for two, she noted with satisfaction. The bath was small and freestanding, and there was an abundance of hand-labelled bottles that suggested Severus brewed his own toiletries rather that use the school-issued ones. She found a bottle of shampoo that smelled amazing, with a fresh lime scent, and she resolved to use it on him later, if he would let her. 

Sitting on the loo, she couldn’t help but think about the changes that had occurred between her and the stern professor this term. Even before any physical contact had taken place, she had found his private lessons stimulating and informative; learning skills, spells and charms that she suspected she wouldn’t have been taught anywhere else. 

And then, the rest. 

After a few false starts, they had made love, the experience so wholly different from her one time with Viktor. Severus was a caring and sensitive lover, gentle with her, but rough and urgent when they both needed and wanted it. He came to her a virgin, at his age, but his need for simple touch and nurture was evident. He revelled in her touch, whether sexual or chaste, and although he was clearly conflicted over the morals of what they were doing together, it seemed that he could no more stop himself than she could. 

She craved his touch and his attentions as much as he appeared to need hers. He was consuming her thoughts. She could feel his hands on her body even when he was not physically with her. A brief part of her wondered how on earth this could continue with school back in session, but she pushed this thought firmly down again. They had two weeks of Christmas holiday to get the lust out of their systems. That would surely be enough. 

-xxx-

Severus groaned in pain as he Apparated from the school gates into his private office, finding it light and warm, with the smell of a cooked dinner in the air. He scanned his surroundings. It was late evening, how long had he remained unconscious on the floor of Malfoy’s office?

He had come round to find Narcissa Malfoy kneeling at his head, holding a pain potion to his lips. The room had otherwise been empty. Voldemort had finished his meeting and left him there like an animal on the study floor, beaten out of consciousness by his vile ‘brothers’. 

He had pushed himself up from the carpet with difficulty, shoving Narcissa’s hand away. He wanted nothing from the Malfoys. That bloody family were currently causing him as many problems as Albus. He had staggered angrily to his feet, his ability to stand indicating no broken bones, although his back was sore and likely badly bruised. A click of his jaw suggested he may also have loosened a tooth. 

Without bidding Narcissa farewell, or even looking at her, he strode from the room and out of the house with as much dignity as he could muster, all the time inspecting his clothes for blood or damage. 

At the crack of his Apparition, Hermione leapt off the bed where she had been reading from his private collection again, and shot straight into the office where she saw him standing, at least he was standing, his clothes dusty and a large bruise on the side of his face. She ran towards him, fearful to throw her arms around him in case he was hurt. 

She lifted her hand to cup his bruised cheek, and as he smiled weakly she could see a little dried blood on his lips. 

“Why did he hurt you?”

“It is not important. And it was not him, he commanded … others to do his work today.”

“Can I hold you?”

“Let me get out of these clothes. I do not wish to sully your innocence with everything they represent.”

As they walked through to the bedchamber, she aimed her wand in the direction of the bathroom to set the tub to fill. She led him straight past the bed and into the steamy stone room, and turned to attend to the bath, to allow him to strip himself of his Death Eater robes, considering how he seemed to not want her to touch them or even look upon them. 

He removed everything gingerly by hand, not with magic, and as he dropped each item to the floor she saw bruising on his chest, his back and even on his neck. Hermione could not help covering her mouth in shock. He followed her gaze.

“I can heal these bruises. There is nothing broken, nothing cut. Apart from …” he raised his wand to his mouth and she heard a sickening crack of tooth against bone, “a cracked tooth,” he finished, holding the offending tooth he had just extracted in his hand and tossing it into the bathroom bin. “I daresay my mouth is overcrowded anyway, what is the loss of one tooth?”

She blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes. Crying would do no one any good; it would not change the situation, it would not roll back time, it would only make her look weak and pathetic in the face of his bravery. 

The bath was soon full and she shut off the taps, indicating that he should step into the tub, knowing better than to try and assist him. As sank his bruised body into the warm water she heard a relieved moan escape his lips, hopefully it was soothing for him. Hermione sat on the side of the bath, scooping up the water and pouring it over his chest and shoulders. He closed his eyes and allowed her ministrations. 

“Do not pity me, Hermione.” 

“I’m not …”

“There are many things about me of which you know nothing. All treatment I receive is nothing more than I deserve.”

“Surely not …”

“I do not wish to discuss it.”

They remained silent, and she moved behind his head, using a small beaker to pour water over his dirty hair, soaking it thoroughly before applying the zesty shampoo she had discovered earlier. She massaged it thoroughly into his long hair, scratching his scalp firmly with her short fingernails, eliciting small pleasured noises from him. At length, she rinsed it until the water ran clear, and applied a little conditioner to the ends. 

“Do you wish to eat?” she asked, resuming her seat on the side of the bath. 

“We have missed dinner. I am not sure whether I have any appropriate provisions in my kitchen.”

“I already ordered. Dobby brought dinner and it is on the table in your office, under a warming charm. I’ll leave you to get dry and I’ll meet you out there.”

He was surprised, but watched her leave the room, trying to see if her arse was bare under his black t-shirt that she was again wearing. His battered heart ached with feelings, he knew not what they were, but they were for her, and they felt wonderful and terrifying in equal measure. She had waited for him, and he had allowed her to care for him. Both were brand-new experiences. 

Giving himself a cursory rough-dry with a towel, he threw on a pair of black undershorts and a t-shirt, and ran his hands through his wet hair to dry it, a little surprised by how clean and soft it felt after Granger had washed it. The whole experience had been blissful. He wandered through to his office, where Hermione was uncovering dishes and removing the warming charms from the food that was set at the small table in the living area of the round room. 

He slunk up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, bending down to kiss the side of her neck.

“It gives me extraordinarily great pleasure to have you here, Hermione. I am quite unaccustomed to the kindness and thoughtfulness you are showing me.”

She turned her head so that his lips could reach hers and began to kiss him, a kiss that he eagerly returned. He slid one hand from around her waist and reached down to her thigh, sliding his hand up the soft skin and under his t-shirt that she wore, and poking his fingers under the soft material of her knickers. 

“And yet, for all your care, I want nothing more than to take these from you. May I?”

He toyed with the lace of her underwear as she mmm’d her approval into his mouth, and he hoicked them down without missing a beat of the kiss. He turned her to face him fully so that he could snog her deeply, despite the pain in his jaw, and grab himself a bare arse cheek in each hand. 

“Stay like that,” he whispered urgently, between kisses, “for you, little witch, are my wildest dreams come to life.” 

And indeed, as they sat down to eat the welcome repast, warm and well-cooked from the Hogwarts kitchens, this beautiful witch wearing nothing but a smile and one of his t-shirts, could well be described as one of his dreams become reality, as with every mouthful he took he could think only of Hermione Granger’s naked arse just inches from him. 

-xxx-

They had made small talk over dinner, and she did not ask him about the summons, for which he was truly grateful. She knew enough, as it was. They were enjoying pumpkin juice, rather than the wine Severus was used to. Hermione had told him of her encounter with Madam Wallasey and Madam Pince, and informed him that the latter had gifted her with the key to her precious library. He would make it his festive mission to fuck her in there – the idea was erotically appealing, certainly something he had never done as a student himself. 

Finishing their meal, he banished the plates, serving dishes, napkins and cutlery to the kitchens, and looked at Hermione expectantly. 

“And now, it is time for pudding.”

Her face fell. 

“Severus, I am sorry, I did not order any of the puddings. I didn’t even think of it.”

“I can see that,” he smirked, wickedly, “but I have all the pudding I need right here.”

He shifted his chair back from the table, pulling her to her feet and standing her in front of him, in-between his spread legs, running his fingers up her thighs. 

“Lay back, please, Hermione.”

He took his wand and flicked it nonchalantly at the table, and as Hermione lay back she felt a superior cushioning charm beneath her. He opened her legs, dropping deep, sucking kisses on her inner thighs as he approached her pussy, his new favourite meal, and graced it with a long lick with his sharp tongue, hard and determined from her rear end to under her hood. She released a long, single cry of pleasure. 

“How I love to lick you, Miss Granger. How I love to push my tongue into your wet cunt, feeling you tremble beneath my touch.”

He pushed his tongue deep into her vagina, thrusting it in hard as if he were fucking her with it. 

“How delightful. Is all this juice for me?”

She gasped something unintelligible in reply and he chuckled darkly against her folds, feeling them twitch. 

“I want your little clitoris, girl. I’m going to uncover it, expose it to my sight, and then I intend to lick it without mercy until you come all over my tongue.”

“Fuck … Merlin … yes,” was all he heard, muttered from above. 

He separated her labia and lifted the concealing hood from her clit, teasing it out of hiding with his tongue, swirling around the small bud as it began to harden, wanting to drive her hard, needing her orgasm. He tickled it with his tongue, keeping her spread wide open before him, feeling her opening dampen under his chin. 

“Suck … suck me, please.” 

Severus did not need to be told twice. He sucked her hard, swollen clit into his mouth, beginning a devastating rhythm of tugging and release that soon had her hopping around on the table. It would not be long now. He felt her hips rise and stiffen, holding herself rigid as her body prepared involuntarily for climax. He increased the pace of his sucking from fast to frantic, and was rewarding by her scream of ecstasy as she fell over her cliff, her hips shuddering as she shook out her orgasm. 

He kept her lips splayed wide open before him for his own viewing pleasure, enjoying watching her vagina gape and contract, and appreciating the slick of juice that dripped from her hole, onto his fingers and the table beneath her. 

Fucking hell, she was transcendent when she climaxed. 

He stood up and leaned over her, her beautiful face red and flushed from her orgasm. 

“I wish to take you to my bed, Granger. I do not wish to leave there until morning. I intend to fuck you many, many times. Are you in agreement?”

She managed to sit up and look him dead in the eyes, with such seriousness that he was actually worried she might say no. 

“What a stupid fucking question, Professor,” she smirked, leaping gracefully from the table and taking hold of his hand, leading him to his own bedchamber.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He forced his mind to avoid the real issue, the one he was not telling her – that he did not expect to survive the war, when it inevitably came.

Chapter 18

Severus laboured above her in the centre of his huge four-poster bed, the covers crumpled around them as he drove his passion into her for the second time within an hour. She tenderly pushed his hair back where it had stuck itself to his face in black, sweaty strands, before pressing her hands down on his narrow shoulders as he swivelled his hips to vary the angles with which he was thrusting inside her. His aching and bruised back could go to hell, fucking this girl was all the physical therapy he needed. 

“I cannot stop, witch,” he growled, once again close to climax. “I have to come. Let me come inside you, Hermione.”

“I want it,” she breathed, “I want it as much as you.”

She angled her hips so that his large penis was hitting that particular spot deep inside that always threw her over the edge, taking huge lungfuls of air as the blunt head bumped against it, nudging her towards her own orgasm. 

Reaching down, she grabbed a firm hold of one of his bum cheeks and clenched the flesh hard, driving him harder, faster and causing him to shout out in delicious torment. She loved to hear the curses spilling from between his gritted teeth, usually so controlled, so different to his classroom persona. As he came, he leaned down and covered her mouth with wet, messy kisses, uncaring how graceless he was being with his tongue. He laved her open-mouthed through her climax, tasting the sweat on her skin and feeling the deliciously tight pulse of her channel clench around his still-hard prick. 

As they came down from their peaks, despite being overheated and panting, he could not bear to let her go, not even an inch, so he tucked himself in behind her, spooning her, running his hands over her warm breasts and stomach.   
His movements began to slow as their breathing evened out, and both drifted into a light sleep, their bodies still greatly aware of the proximity of the other.

When Severus awoke possibly an hour or so later, his traitorous prick was already stirring, making its interest known against the cleft of Hermione’s bottom. He kissed her neck, surprised to find her already awake.

“I need you, Severus,” she whispered, and her words of admission were the sweetest sound he had ever heard. 

She reached behind and took hold of his cock, running her small hand over the bumps, ridges and veins that were hardening on the surface, before lifting her leg to allow him access in this position. 

He guided his erection between her open thighs and inside her, she was still wet and dripping from their previous two encounters – as if he cared. He delighted in the sound of her moan as he pushed slowly inside her, stretching her again, beginning a devastatingly languid rhythm with his cock as he rolled his hips against her arse. 

Slipping both his arms around her, he grabbed himself a breast in each, squeezing the heated mounds and rolling her nipples between his thumb and index fingers. She squealed, long and loud, in pleasure at his touch. 

“That’s it, little witch,” he hissed hoarsely against her ear, continuing to fuck her slowly. “Tell me you like my touch. Let me know how much my touch pleases you, how I arouse you. Do I turn you on, my angel?”

He didn’t even recognise the words falling from his lips, but he was compelled to say them, nonetheless, to give voice to his feelings inside. 

“Fucking hell, Severus, I’ve never felt like this,” she whispered, her voice cracking with lust. “Please don’t ever stop.”

He gave a couple of harder thrusts inside her at her words, making her gasp.

“I cannot stop. I have no wish to ever stop fucking you, Granger. I want to be inside you night and day, girl. What can I do with these feelings but invade you, again and again?”

“Oh, please … Merlin …”

He dropped one hand desultorily down between her legs, insinuating his long fingers between her labia and seeking out her clitoris, which was as hard as a small rock. He began to masturbate her, working her clit as if it were a tiny penis, with pulling, tugging movements. He could feel his prick fucking her beneath his fingers, and without meaning to, began to speed up his thrusts, for the witch’s writhing and panting had him approaching climax yet again. 

Severus rolled her clitoris over and over in his fingers, irritating the little nub until he had her plateaued in orgasm, imploring him not to stop. 

“Come, my angel,” he encouraged. “Let me feel you come all over my cock. Show me that you want my touch.”

At his words, and with a final devastating twist to her most sensitive part, she shuddered in climax, shaking her hips with the strength of her orgasm. He thrust through it, the fluttering sheath of her pussy around him providing an erotic treat as he spurted what must surely be the last of his spunk for one evening inside her. 

“Tomorrow, Hermione,” he panted, withdrawing from her and falling onto the cooler pillow on his side, “tomorrow, we must be sensible, for I will not have you taken from me.”

-xxx-

And sensible they were. That evening had marked a turning point for Severus, for even if he had not realised it before, he now admitted to himself the depth of his obsession with Hermione Granger. He would not let her go. He could not allow her to be taken from him. For the first time in his whole miserable life he had someone whom he desired, a witch who inexplicably desired him in return. There was nothing he would not do to keep her; however hopeless their position might currently be. 

The next morning, both satiated and somewhat sore from their many bouts of intercourse the previous evening, they sat clothed and drinking tea on the sofa in his office, devising a plan for the rest of the holidays, after agreeing that thus far they had allowed themselves to be foolish, risking detection or suspicion. 

Severus cast the twenty-four-hour contraceptive charm upon her abdomen, agreeing he would do this every morning at the same time, to ensure that they were always protected against pregnancy. He resolutely did not think about how beautiful a baby of Hermione’s would be, even with the tremendous negative impact of his own foul genetics. 

Neither of them wished to spend the night alone whilst they had the chance, so it was agreed that she would be seen to enter the Gryffindor common room each evening, and he would Apparate directly into her room to collect her, returning her to the dormitory each morning so that she could exit through the portrait hole and breakfast with the rest of the students. 

Both would give each other space and time alone to complete their own work, although it was tacitly agreed that this was what they felt they should do, rather than what they actually wanted. They couldn’t spend all hours of the day and night together, could they? Severus rather felt that he could spend untold hours exploring the delights of her mind and body. 

Hermione would from that point onwards attend all meals in the Great Hall. This was unavoidable. To not do so would invite questions, they both knew this. 

“There will be plenty of time in the future to eat together, I am sure,” she had told him, squeezing his hand and kissing his cheek. 

There would? 

He could not imagine a future where he was free to enjoy a carefree lunch with Hermione Granger, or to blithely take anyone out for a casual dinner. 

He forced his mind to avoid the real issue, the one he was not telling her – that he did not expect to survive the war, when it inevitably came. 

This had never much bothered him, for Severus did not have much respect for his own life or health. 

Until now. 

He pushed the thought away quickly. If he gave credence to that thought, it would be tantamount to admitting that he now had something to live for, and that would not fit in to any part of Albus Dumbledore’s grand plan, a plan to which he had promised and pledged himself, many years previously, when the old man had rescued him from the depths of despair. 

He wanted her, yes. But surely the pull he felt towards her was purely sexual? He had lived his life untouched, it only made sense that the more sex one had, the more it was desired. No doubt by the time the holidays were over, this … thing that was happening between them would become naught but a memory. 

If he kept telling himself this, it would surely be true. 

-xxx-

The morning of Christmas Day dawned brightly, the cold winter sun glinting off the fresh blanket of white snow that covered the Hogwarts grounds and the Scottish highlands and uplands beyond. Hermione stood at the window in Severus’ bedchamber, looking out at the festive scene spread before her. He stepped wordlessly behind her, wrapping himself around her back and joining her in admiring the view. 

“I must wish you a Merry Christmas, Hermione,” he drawled, and she felt the deep rumble of his rich voice through his chest. 

Hermione turned in his arms, wrapping her own around his neck. 

“Merry Christmas, Severus.”

He smiled in the crooked, slightly lop-sided way that he did, and she rose up on her tiptoes to plant a warm kiss upon his lips. Catching her around the waist, he did not allow her to draw back and instead extended the kiss, teasing her lips open with his tongue until he felt he had provided the requisite amount of festive greeting. He set her back on her feet, enjoying the feel of her hands smoothing through his tangled, ratty morning hair. 

Severus Apparated her to the Gryffindor dormitory, now a familiar sight to him in the mornings, where she began to look around for the clothes and gifts she intended to take to her parents. 

“I will leave you to ready yourself. Albus is aware that I am Apparating you home this morning, therefore we need not sneak around. Shall we meet in the entrance hall in an hour?”

Hermione stopped packing, and turned fully towards him. 

“I wish you could come with me, Severus.”

He sighed, and sat down on her bed, still made and not slept in since the start of the holidays. 

“That would only happen in an alternate universe, Hermione. I cannot imagine your parents would be delighted for their daughter to bring home a school professor for Christmas luncheon. Not least one that is repeatedly taking advantage of their child.”

“Don’t talk like that. I am not a child and you are not taking advantage of me. My parents are very welcoming and open-minded, I think you’d be surprised. I mean, not this year, I haven’t given them any notice, but maybe next …?” she trailed off, noting the look of consternation on his face. 

“What is the end of that sentence?” he asked. “Next year? Where do you see us in a year’s time, little witch?”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to sigh deeply, and she stepped towards him, his thighs opening so she could stand between them, and place her hands gently on his shoulders. 

“I have absolutely no idea,” she admitted, “I’m not even sure exactly what we are doing.”

Severus looked up at her, his black eyes appearing to be endless volcanic pools that she could never hope to reach the bottom of.

“Then I suggest that we do not try to analyse. It would be a painful exercise for the both of us. For now, we are … here. Let us leave it at that.”

He pulled her close, so close that he could hear the beat of her heart against his ear. She rested her chin upon the top of his head, and they stood there, wordlessly, for the longest time. He felt so safe, here in the cradle of her arms, and he knew not why. The unsettling thoughts bubbled to the surface of his mind again, unbidden. 

I cannot let her go. 

Take me away from here, little angel. 

Hide me away. 

Keep me safe. 

At length, he stood up, moving her back from him by the tops of her arms, lest he embarrass himself by refusing to let her leave the castle. 

“An hour, in the entrance hall?” was all he could say. 

She nodded, and he Apparated back to his rooms. 

-xxx-

He had taken them to the doorstep of her parents’ home in the Cotswolds, the smart semi-detached house a far cry away from the dilapidated, unloved piles of Spinners End, Cokeworth. Hermione had explained that the porch was well-covered with climbing ivy, and he would be able to Apparate directly into it without risk of being seen by her Muggle neighbours. 

She was wearing a short grey overcoat with a soft, long red scarf wrapped double around her neck, and a matching woollen hat. There was a large bag of presents hanging from one arm, and a bottle of Madam Rosmerta’s best oak-matured mead as a gift for her father in her hand. 

“What will you be doing for the day?” she enquired, just as the door was pulled open enthusiastically by a smiling woman who pulled her daughter into a tight hug, stroking her bouncy curls with proud maternal affection. 

“Merry Christmas, Mum!” Hermione enthused, returning the hug with happiness clear on her face. 

Granger was loved by this woman. She had given up her holiday with her parents, with all the love they had to give her … for him. He suddenly felt most unworthy, and rather uncomfortable standing in front of her mother, who must only be a few years older than himself, at best. 

“You have brought a guest, Hermione?” her mother asked, lifting her eyes to Severus, taking in his dour appearance and all-black clothing. 

“No Mum, I wouldn’t spring an unexpected guest on you. This is Professor Snape, he used to be my Potions teacher but now takes Defence. He is resident at the castle over Christmas, and offered to bring me here rather than me taking the Knight Bus.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m not glad to hear that. That bus, the way you described it, sounds like a risky way to travel. Thank you, Professor, for your kind offer, and for bringing Hermione here safely. Will you come in for a glass of wine?”

“Thank you, Dr Granger, but no. I have my own festive luncheon to attend, but I shall return for Miss Granger this evening. Would nine o’clock be acceptable?”

“Perfect. Well, thank you again. Merry Christmas.”

Severus looked down at Hermione, trying to contain the blazing fire that he knew would be in his gaze. 

“I shall see you this evening, Miss Granger. Do enjoy your day with your family.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she choked, suddenly unable to find her full voice and wanting to throw her arms around him to kiss him goodbye. 

There was a crack of Apparition and he was gone. Hermione allowed her mother to lead her into the house and take her parcels from her whilst she hung her outer garments on the pegs in the hallway. Entering the living room to be set upon by her father, sweeping her up into the kind of hug that only a Dad could provide, the familiar festive smell of an early sherry and a cheeky Christmas cigar already on his clothes. She snuggled into the embrace of her wonderful father. 

When he released her, she set about greeting the various aunts, uncles and grandparents that were around the room, no children or teenagers, she was an only child in every sense of the word. As she accepted a glass of sherry, she wondered where Severus had gone, and what he was doing now. 

-xxx-

Severus was halfway through turkey and trimmings in the Great Hall when the Dark Mark burned against his flesh, Voldemort summoning his loyal followers on this most festive of days. 

Tom Riddle, you are an absolute fucking arsehole.

He indicated to Albus where he was going with a cursory nod of his head towards his arm, and stalked out of the hall, boots hardly making a single noise on the hard stone floor. He did not miss the Headmaster’s face fill with concern as he watched his spy leave, allowing Snape yet again to sacrifice his mind, body and soul to the cause. 

Once at the gates, dressed in his Death Eater robes, he touched his wand to the Dark Mark in order to transport to whatever godforsaken place he had been summoned to, this time.

Severus did not expect to feel a fresh sea breeze upon his face, as he landed outside a huge, gothic-looking house that was practically right upon a deserted and rather eerie cove. There were fires outside on the beach, already lit, threatening pyres of witchcraft that would certainly discourage any curious Muggles from straying too near. 

He recognised the house as belonging to the Vaizeys’ – a proud, pureblood family with children at Hogwarts and two Death Eaters for parents. Voldemort must have tired of the environs of Malfoy Manor and come to the beach for his Christmas holidays. The thought of the Dark Lord taking a seaside vacation would have been amusing if Severus had not been so shit-scared at what lay ahead. 

The front door was opened for him, and he was led into hell. 

It was a Revel, and no ordinary one. No, this was clearly Voldemort’s Yule treat for his loyal followers, screams from Muggles could already be heard, and when he saw Macnair plucking a wand from one of them, it became clear that these were not only Muggles, but Muggle-born witches also. No pure or half-blood would ever be subjected to such treatment.

Hermione. 

He would kill himself, and her, before ever allowing these feral, sub-humans to abuse her. Severus swore it, right there, where he stood. 

He walked through the house, through the main ballroom where Voldemort was seated upon a self-styled throne, raised above the rest of the room. He quickly crossed towards him, for it did not do to keep the Dark Lord waiting, before kneeling to kiss his robes, as was expected.

“Severussss. Welcome to my little party.”

“Thank you, My Lord. You are most benevolent.”

“I trust that you will … avail yourself of the opportunities on offer? I know that you do not rape the unwilling, but the young students of Hogwarts, however keen to oblige their professor, surely cannot hold a candle to an adult witch, wet and ready for your attentions?”

“I am sure I will, My Lord.”

“You can be spared from the castle during these ghoulish days between Yule and the New Year? I have enough … entertainment for many days, Severusss. There will be much blood shed, all necessary of course, and there will be many plans made. But for this evening, let us celebrate, celebrate that the day where I achieve ultimate power over the wizarding world is almost upon us!”

He shouted the last sentence across the large room, where the entire company of Death Eaters were assembled. Severus could see Draco Malfoy, drained of all colour, attempting to blend himself into the background, but being pulled forward by the fathers of his schoolfriends, Crabbe and Goyle. 

He cursed Lucius Malfoy for jeopardising the life of his son. And then he cursed Voldemort for this fucking travesty of a gathering, that he would endure, as he always did, on Dumbledore’s orders. 

He would not be able to get word to Hermione that there was no way he could be at her family home to collect her that evening. 

He would be far too busy just trying to stay alive. 

-xxx-

Nine, ten and eleven o’clock came around with no sign of Severus. The aunts and uncles (not really related, just friends of her parents who had been around for so long they had become honorary relatives) had departed an hour ago, and her grandparents were safely ensconced in the spare room, ready for another festive day on the sherry for Boxing Day tomorrow. 

Hermione had forced herself not to gaze out of the window. This would not be helpful in any event, since he was hardly likely to come walking down the street. The only warning she might get would be the crack of his Apparition on the front porch. 

She was a little tipsy, a few sherries and glasses of wine over a long lunch had seen to that, but nothing hugely impairing. Her mother crossed the room and sat next to her on the long, squashy sofa. 

“Why don’t you stay the night, darling? Professor Snape must have been held up somewhere and is unable to get word to you.”

Without being able to think of an answer that would satisfy her mum, she agreed, and headed upstairs to her room, searching the drawers for the nightclothes and toiletries that she had left here before returning to school in September. Once changed and washed, she hopped into her single bed, which smelled fresh, the sheets must have been newly-washed in anticipation that she might at least stay the night, and she felt a pang of guilt for the time she spent away from her family. 

The door creaked, and her mother entered, she too a little unsteady on her feet after a tad too much festive indulgence. She sat on the edge of Hermione’s bed and took hold of her hand. 

“So, Hermione. Is the mysterious Professor Snape the real reason that you did not return home for your Christmas holidays?”

She sat bolt upright in bed. 

“What?”

“Relax, darling, I am not angry. It would be most unfair of me to criticise your choice of an older man, since your father is almost twenty years older than I am. Some might say this was to be expected.”

“Mum, nothing has …”

“Sssh. You have nothing to defend yourself about. I am here to help, and advise you, if I can. You are clearly upset that the professor has not returned for you this evening, and for his part, it is rather unusual for a teacher to use his own personal time to ferry around a student.”

Hermione exhaled hard, and slackened her shoulders in resignation. 

“How did you know?”

Her mother smiled, indulgently. 

“As soon as I saw the two of you on the doorstep. I felt like I had interrupted a private moment between you both. My darling, you looked as if you wanted to kiss him.”

“I hope you are not suggesting that I was gazing at him like a kind of lovesick mooncalf,” she retorted, crossly. 

“I have no idea what a mooncalf is, but no, I am not suggesting that. Hermione – this professor – is he aware of your feelings?”

Hermione bit back a smile and was exceedingly glad that her mother had no skill in Legilimency. 

Was he aware of her feelings? 

Hmmm, maybe the tenth or twentieth time they’d had sex might have given him some clue. 

She wanted to laugh. Her poor mum. Now was not the time for a full confession. 

“I, um … he is privately tutoring me. We spend a lot of time together,” she replied, evasively. 

“Just be careful. I can see that he is a darkly attractive man, clearly intelligent, which I would say is a must for any partner of yours, my darling, but he also seems intense, and men like that often make the very worst partners.”

“Mum! I am not taking my Defence professor as a partner,” she groaned, feeling quite embarrassed at her mother’s bluntness, and quite glad she was a little drunk herself.

“So, you don’t want to talk about it?”

“I really do not, but thank you. Perhaps you should go to bed too, Mum? Dad passed out an hour ago.”

Her mother kissed her forehead and left the room, not altogether in a straight line, and Hermione leaned back against her pillow, smiling in spite of her worry about Severus not returning. 

She missed her parents, but the truth was, her life as a witch was so wildly different from their life in their comfortable Muggle village, that … she didn’t know. 

She knew she could never fully return to the Muggle world. She had known that as soon as she’d entered Diagon Alley the summer before she started Hogwarts. But they would always be her parents, however much they didn’t understand her, her magic, or her life. 

Hermione needed to be careful though, to ensure that she actually wasn’t gazing at Professor Snape like a mooncalf, since that would be most unwise, particularly in the middle of a busy classroom. 

Where was he? 

Her only thought was that he must have been summoned, unable to contact her, and she did not want to even think about that. 

I hope he is safe, wherever he is, she thought. 

If he had not returned by tomorrow afternoon she would catch the Knight Bus and head back to Hogwarts, and alert the headmaster. 

-xxx-

Hermione wobbled off the Knight Bus, thankfully with no more luggage than a small handbag, since she had deposited her festive gifts with her parents. It had not been a pleasant experience. 

She’d hugged both her parents and grandparents tightly, before heading to a quiet road and sticking out her wand arm to hail the Knight Bus. In a split-second, the giant purple triple-decker had lurched around the corner, a middle-aged witch leaning off the back with a conductor’s ticket machine around her neck. Clearly the previous conductor, Stan Shunpike, that Harry had told her about, was still languishing at the Ministry’s disposal in Azkaban on trumped-up charges. 

Keen for the full Knight Bus experience, (never let it be said that Hermione Granger would miss an opportunity for learning) she had counted out the Sickles for her fare and headed for the top deck, selected a bed from the row she found there, and immediately wished she was closer to the ground as the bus sped off in the most curious and vomit-inducing manner. 

Five hours and several detours to different parts of the country later, dropping off and picking up various stranded witches and wizards, the Knight Bus screeched to halt outside the gates of Hogwarts just as the early evening darkness began to fall. Hermione gratefully disembarked, touching her wand to the huge, boar-topped gates to request entry. Hagrid had arrived on the other side to open the heavy gates that secured the school, and she had wished him festive Yule greetings before shooting up the long hill towards the castle. 

Out of breath, and rather hotter than she would want to be, she stood at the gargoyle, waiting to be admitted to the Headmaster’s office. She began to strip off her coat, scarf, hat and gloves, attempting to cool her temperature which had mostly been caused by running all the way from the gates. 

“Good evening, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said amiably, indicating that she should be seated in the chair opposite his own. 

Before she could open her mouth, he had begun. 

“How are you finding your lessons with Professor Snape?”

She was taken aback.

“I … um, they are going very well, Sir. I’m enjoying them, and learning loads.”

“Is that so.”

It was not a question. His blue eyes were twinkling at her, and she felt the tell-tale pressure against her mind that she recognised so well from her lessons with Severus. He was Legilimising into her mind! 

The training that Severus had drummed into her came into immediate use as she brought the white mist, or steam, down across her entire mind, pulling up the drawbridge with a hard slam for good measure. She did not need to provide the headmaster with a false memory, she simply needed to keep him out, and didn’t care if he knew it. 

He nodded, steepling his fingers under his chin. 

“Impressive, Miss Granger. Effective and speedy use of Occlumency against me. Clearly the lessons have been well-used.”

“Did you expect otherwise?”

“I am not sure. As you know, Professor Snape was unsuccessful in teaching the skill to Harry. I had hoped he would be … different with you.”

“He is, Sir.”

“I am glad to hear it. Would you then, Miss Granger, agree with my assessment that Severus is not all that he first seems?”

“Certainly. He has been very generous with his time and his teaching.”

“Would you say that yourself and Professor Snape have reached an understanding, even a friendship, between you?”

She coughed, and had no doubt she was blushing. 

“I … I find myself concerned for his welfare in light of his activities for the Order, Sir.”

“I am pleased to hear that. Most pleased. Now, what can I do for you this evening? I presume this has to do with Severus not collecting you from your family home last night as arranged?”

“Yes, but how did you …?”

“I am aware of all arrangements concerning my students, Miss Granger. Now, since you have advised me that yourself and Severus have an understanding that is rather more than the terse relationship he has with the majority of your peers, I feel I can tell you this. Severus was summoned before Voldemort during Yule luncheon yesterday.”

Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. 

“Yesterday lunchtime! But he’s been gone for more than twenty-four hours!”

“He has been gone for longer on previous occasions.”

“Please pardon my rudeness, Sir, but in what state did he return on those previous occasions? How much can one wizard be expected to tolerate? At what point will he not return?”

“Severus has always returned, and he has always survived, as you can see.”

“But at what cost?”

Dumbledore did not answer. He continued to regard her from his seated position opposite, his eyes questioning, but not unkind. She did not back down from his gaze, raising her chin in defiance.

“Dinner will be served within the hour,” he said, slowly and carefully. “I suggest that you return to Gryffindor Tower, or to the library, until you hear the dinner bell sound. I understand that Madam Pince has furnished you with the key to the library?”

Hermione nodded, curtly, and his glare softened somewhat. 

“Rest assured, Miss Granger, that as soon as Severus returns, I shall ensure that you are informed.”

She did not trust herself to reply, so she stood up from the chair, merely nodding an acknowledgment to the headmaster, who suddenly seemed … rather fallible. Could Albus Dumbledore be trusted to keep Severus safe from harm? 

For the first time, she had doubts. 

-xxx-

Much later that night, Hermione lay in her dormitory bed, cold and alone. 

Severus was equally cold and equally alone, laid out next to the dying embers of a pyre upon the damp sand in the darkness of his second night at the Revel. The blood of others, both guilty and innocent, was on his hands, and he wanted beyond all else, to run and hide away, like the wretched coward he was.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And what if choose to not do this? What if I just … disappear?”
> 
> “Then you will have greatly dishonoured Lily Potter’s memory, Severus, and will not have fulfilled the life debt you owe to her husband.”

Chapter 19

Severus was slumped in an armchair before the fireplace in the headmaster’s office, trying warm some life back into his frozen bones without visibly shivering. He knew he looked like a fucking wreck, and he certainly felt like one. Five days in the auspicious company of Voldemort, the Death Eaters and their idea of a Yule celebration had left him emotionally and physically exhausted. 

And yet, like the dutiful little spy he was, he had gone to see Dumbledore before he’d even returned to his own chambers. He had much to report; names of Muggle-borns who had been killed or kidnapped, Muggle villages that had seen Death Eater raids, and information as to what the Dark Lord was planning next – most notably his grand plot to overthrow the Ministry of Magic, along with his side plan of murdering Harry Potter along the way. 

Albus offered him tea and sweets, both of which he refused, accepting only a neat firewhisky in a fat little goblet. Throwing the tart liquid back, allowing the high alcohol content to burn the back of his throat, that was raw from last few days, he fixed the headmaster with a cold glare. 

“I cannot do this anymore, Albus,” he began. 

“You can, and you must, my boy,” Dumbledore interrupted. “There is no way out, I am afraid.”

“Has it ever crossed your brilliant mind …”

“Yes. It has crossed my brilliant mind, many a time, Severus. Believe me, I see and understand how hard this is for you.”

Severus gave a dark, mirthless laugh. 

“You understand? How could you possibly understand what I must endure in your service, old man?”

Dumbledore did not answer, but continued to look at the battered, defeated professor seated opposite him before the fire, his blue eyes kind, but resolute. 

“You promised, Severus,” he replied, at length. 

“A promise I made you more than sixteen years ago, Albus! How can you still hold me to that?”

“It is a promise that has not yet been fulfilled, Severus. I have explained this all to you, many times. Until the part of Voldemort’s soul that lives inside Harry has been eviscerated, you must protect him. You do this by bringing me enough information to get me as near to the Close as possible, to give us the best possible chance of eliminating Tom Riddle forever. When I am gone, Harry will continue what I have started. He will need your support, even if he does not know it.”

Snape’s eyes flashed black with ill-concealed anger. 

“And what if choose to not do this? What if I just … disappear?”

“Then you will have greatly dishonoured Lily Potter’s memory, Severus, and will not have fulfilled the life debt you owe to her husband.”

It always came down to a fucking Potter, he thought, angrily clenching his teeth against the venom and bile that rose up in his throat. 

“Let us also not forget, that should you renege on your promise,” Dumbledore continued, “it is entirely likely that Riddle will overthrow the wizarding world as we know it.”

Severus scoffed in disbelief. 

“You are telling me that I am the only person who stands in the Dark Lord’s way? I find that rather difficult to believe, Albus.”

“You are an integral part of the plan I have constructed to destabilise Voldemort. Without you, the whole tower will fall.”

“And the other … task you have commanded me to perform? What will be left of my soul after that?”

“You must be the one to kill me, Severus, it is the only way. Only then will Lord Voldemort trust you completely, and allow the school to fall into your hands once I am gone. Only you can protect the students in those final months.”

“And after this … ‘final confrontation’ that you predict? What is to happen then?”

Albus did not answer, just continued to regard Severus with his light blue stare, even now, in the death grip of the curse that afflicted him, his eyes remained interested, full of emotion. 

Severus knew without either of them having to say it. 

Dumbledore did not expect him to survive. 

The Dark Arts post was jinxed to last only a year for each incumbent, therefore Severus knew that, one way or the other, he would not be the Defence professor after the end of the current school year. 

He would either be dead … or be the Headmaster, having murdered Albus. Neither option filled him with any joy. 

Severus needed to leave. He needed the peace and quiet of his chambers, and he needed not to be in the company of his puppet-master any longer this evening. He was hungry, exhausted and in physical and emotional pain. 

“I am going to retire to my chambers. I am not to be disturbed until the day before school recommences. I will take my meals from the house-elves. Is that clear?”

“As you wish, Severus,” Dumbledore nodded, allowing Snape to rise from his chair and head towards the fireplace, before adding; “Do you wish me to alert Miss Granger to your return?”

Severus swung around, stilling the hand holding the granules of grey Floo powder above the flames, that would lead to the sanctity of his own rooms. He shot the headmaster a furious look. 

“That is something else we need to discuss, Albus, but not tonight, for I am beyond exhausted. Advise the ancillary staff that you will be returning Miss Granger to her parents’ home for the remainder of the holidays. My shame and filth shall not become hers.”

He swirled back around, throwing the grainy Floo powder into the fireplace with an angry flourish, calling out for his own quarters as the flames burned green, before stepping through.

-xxx-

Hermione was curled up in the corner of a huge sofa along the side wall of the library, trying to immerse herself in a thick tome of wizarding fiction. She had spent the majority of every day since she returned from her parents on Boxing Day in here, cocooned within its reassuring walls of books, thankful that Madam Pince had allowed her unlimited access during the holidays, for she might have gone quite mad without it. 

She had not seen the dour librarian since before Christmas, no doubt Pince was spending the holiday at her cottage in Hogsmeade, as she had said. It was all so much for the better, as Hermione was quite enjoying having the run of the library to herself, without the rather fearful guardian of the bookshelves breathing down her neck at any given moment. Even as one of Madam Pince’s favourite students, Hermione had no doubt the severe witch would come down on her like a ton of bricks if she saw her with her feet on the sofa, as they were now. 

Trying hard to focus on the book but not really managing it, she was nonetheless enjoying the solitude, and was startled from her reverie by a crack of house-elf Apparition right next to where she was sitting. 

“Dobby!”

“Harry Potter’s friend!”

The elf looked worried, and was pulling on his bat-like ears, his eyes round and fearful. 

“Dobby thought you should know, that the dark professor is home, Miss.”

She leapt to her feet, dropping the book from her lap dangerously close to Dobby’s toes. 

“Professor Snape is back?”

“He is, Miss. Dobby hears him in his rooms. Dobby is waiting for Sir to call for food, or to send laundry, as he does when he returns, but he has not called. Dobby is worrying, Miss.”

She thanked the elf, and was running towards the library door to unlock it when Dobby called her back.

“Does Harry Potter’s friend want Dobby to take her straight there? The professor is not always answering the door to his rooms.”

“Yes,” she replied. “Yes, please.”

Hermione took hold of the elf’s tiny hand, which was as dry as old snakeskin, and he cracked her immediately into the centre of Professor Snape’s private office. The wizard himself was seated on his sofa, fully dressed but filthy from head to foot, dried blood on his face and hands, and nursing a large tumbler containing an amber liquid which she presumed – and smelled - to be strong alcohol. He was as pale as she had ever seen him.

He looked up at her, his black eyes distant and expressionless. He did not say a word, but took a large sip from his drink, and Hermione could see his cheek twitching with the strength of the brew. 

“Dobby,” she addressed the elf, “could you bring food?”

“Dobby is bringing whatever you need, Miss.”

“Um, two large sandwiches on thick bread, with meat inside – sliced beef or ham perhaps? Two mugs of hot chocolate too.”

Dobby bowed low and Apparated away.

Hermione rushed over to the sofa and knelt on the floor in front of Severus, taking his hands in her own, despite the blood and dirt. They were freezing, and she could feel a distinct tremor running through them. She looked up, so that he had no choice but to meet her eyes as his own head was downcast. 

“You have no need to be here,” he said, slowly. 

“I have every need to be here,” she retorted. 

“Why?”

“Because …” she struggled for words, “because I haven’t stopped worrying about you since you’ve been gone. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

“A great deal has happened to me, Miss Granger,” he replied, dully.

“But you are back now. Would you allow me to help you, to comfort you?”

Before he could answer, Dobby cracked back into the room, left the items she had ordered on the table, and with a bow, Apparated out again without a word. He really was a very clever elf, reading the tense situation perfectly. 

Severus stared at her as she were made of smoke, not real, not actually present in his chambers. 

“Hermione …” he whispered, in a tone that sounded like a warning. 

“I am here. Please, just let me help you.”

She took his silence for acquiescence, and started by gently prising the tumbler of firewhisky from his long fingers, and placing it well out of reach, upon his office desk. Then she shot a cleansing charm at his filthy hands before collecting the mugs and plates from the dining table, bringing them over to the sofa and pushing a mug of steaming hot chocolate into them, taking the other herself and drinking a large gulp, indicating with her eyes for him to do the same.

“What is this?” he asked, taking a small sip. 

“It’s hot chocolate. Heat to warm your insides, for you look perished, and a good hit of sugar to perk you up a bit. Plus, the hot mug will warm your hands. Far better than alcohol or caffeine. Drink up.”

Severus took another, larger sip, for it was indeed good, and he felt the warmth travel down his body right to his toes. After he’d taken a few more sips, Hermione took the mug and set it on the small table next to him so that he could still reach it, and then passed him a plate with a thick sandwich on it, taking the other for herself as she sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him. 

“Roast beef inside, for protein. Thick bread for carbohydrate. All good stuff that you need inside you.”

She took a large bite of her own sandwich. 

“You have not already eaten in the Great Hall tonight?” he enquired. 

She shrugged. 

“I’m not going to let you eat alone.”

This simple gesture warmed his heart far better than any hot drink ever could. 

Severus took a bite, and the sandwich was good. Food had not been a priority during his time at the Vaizeys’ imposing beach estate. There had been provisions around, and of course an abundance of alcohol, but the Death Eaters were hungry for blood, torture and punishment, not food. He suddenly felt unusually weak; five days of very little to eat and extreme physical and mental pressure were about to take their toll. 

“Do you have any injuries?” she asked, bluntly. 

“Nothing of note. The blood you see is mostly that … of others.”

She had inhaled audibly but had thankfully not pressed him further. There had been a great deal of punishment throughout the Revel. The Dark Lord’s displeasure with many of his servants had been evident, and other followers were only too keen to administer the required punishments and extract the appropriate repentance, sadistic bastards. 

In the absence of his parents, Draco had been tortured to within an inch of his life. Severus had spent many hours in a secluded upstairs bedroom repairing the young man’s injuries and calming his hysteria. It had been an appalling display.

Many other Death Eaters had upset Voldemort’s increasingly fragile ego in other ways, also finding themselves on the end of an unfriendly wand. There was no choice but to participate, hence why he was covered in the blood of others. No Death Eaters had actually been killed, however, since not even the Dark Lord was foolish enough to murder his own followers, not when they still numbered so few, anyway. 

They finished their food in silence, Hermione discreetly putting most of her sandwich to the side since she had already eaten a good supper in the Great Hall, but she had been truthful, she had not wanted him to eat alone. People were less likely to eat with someone watching them do so, not eating themselves, and Severus clearly needed urgent sustenance inside him. She was satisfied to see him finish the whole sandwich, and drain his mug of hot chocolate. 

“What do you prescribe next, Healer Granger?”

A small glint had become visible in his eye, which gave her hope. 

“Let’s get you clean.”

She held out her hand and pulled him to his feet, taking her wand and casting a Divesto upon him right there in his office, and every stitch of his clothing fell to the floor, revealing his deathly pale body, which had some bruising and a few cuts, but mostly it was dirt and unwashed skin. His penis was almost fully shrivelled inside him, and she was unaccustomed to seeing it in that state, looking scared and sorry. 

Banishing his Death Eater robes and undergarments to the school laundry, as all the students did with their own dirty washing, she took hold of his hand and led the thin, naked wizard to his own bathroom, where she set the shower to run, and guided him underneath the heavy fall of warm water. 

He stood, bowing his head under the spray, allowing it to pummel against his head and shoulders. His long black hair soon hung in soaked rivulets down his face and back as he watched the ingrained filth be rinsed from his body, onto the floor of the shower and down the drain. A little pinkness started to come back to his skin. 

Hermione stood watching him, just outside the stone wall of the large shower. 

“Would you allow me to wash you?”

He looked up. 

“Your clothing will get rather wet if you do.”

“I was thinking of joining you.”

Snape was incredulous. He was covered in the filth of a five-day revel amongst the foulest company and Hermione wished to join him? Why would she do that?

Slightly slack-jawed, he watched as she used Divesto to remove her own clothing, pushing the discarded items into a pile in the corner of his bathroom, and stepped into the shower area with him, allowing the water to soak her own hair and body. Then she reached for a bottle of liquid shower soap, emptied a generous amount into her palm, and began to rub the slippery substance over his body, starting at his chest where she built up a lather in his chest hair, before moving to his arms and hands. 

As she turned him around and began to apply the same treatment to his back, he felt the nerve endings in his body begin to return to life, not with a jolt of shock like they usually did after such abuse, but gently, safely, blissfully – with the stroke of this girl’s hands upon him. She even washed the crack of his arse, fuck knows what filth had gathered there but no part of him escaped her attention. 

Turning him back around to face her, her long hair now soaked and hanging halfway down her back, she applied more liquid soap to his stomach, creating lather and sweeping down to his cock, still flaccid, but in desperate need of her touch. He suddenly winced in audible pain as her hands travelled to his balls and perineum, washing him. 

“What? I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

He took told of her hand, and continued to rub it gently over the sore area between his legs. He needed to be cleansed, and wanted desperately for her to do it. Surprisingly, it wasn’t erotic, he wasn’t hardening. It was … utterly sensual. Exquisite.   
As usual, he had refused to participate in the rape of Muggle women during the revel, but this had not satisfied the Dark Lord. No doubt coerced by Riddle, Bellatrix had approached him, pulling him in to a passionate embrace, pressing her lips on his and forcing her tongue into his mouth. He had been revolted. That mad bitch hated him as much as he abhorred her. 

Voldemort had been standing by them, leering as his little whore had pulled Severus onto the nearest chaise longue, grinding her hips against his cock, trying to force an erection. He couldn’t have been less aroused than if she’d set his dick on fire.   
After a few minutes, Bella had pushed him off her, grabbing his limp cock through his trousers and pronouncing his impotence to anyone close enough to hear her. 

“Like I said, Snape, you just don’t have the juice,” she spat, in a scathing voice, clearly taking her inability to make him hard as a personal insult, making her angrier. 

Voldemort had patted his shoulder, awkwardly. 

“Ah, Severus. You have been consumed by the desire for willing yet virginal flesh. What am I to do with you? I bring you Muggle virgins and you refuse. Bella offers herself to you and you again refuse. Perhaps you do not need to own a cock at all, eh, since you so rarely use it?”

The Dark Lord took no more than a split-second to conjure his magical whip and cracked it hard against the floor, so that it shot upwards and thrashed Severus hard between the legs, hitting his ballsack and the underside of his cock. 

He dropped to the floor in pain, hearing the odious Bella laugh as she stepped over him, making sure to tread on his fingers with her booted feet. Just Voldemort’s little punishment for Snape’s supposed humiliation of his favourite pet, Bellatrix. 

Hermione was now rubbing the sore skin of his balls exquisitely gently, kneeling to inspect the damage. 

“There is a tiny bit of broken skin, but apart from that it is a long single bruise,” she diagnosed, “similar to the ones on your back.” 

“I daresay I will live,” he responded, offering his hand to help her return to standing. 

She reached for the shampoo and began to massage it into his scalp, and he bowed his head so that she could access his entire head. He wasn’t sure he’d been bathed, washed or attended to like this in his entire worthless life. Hermione pushed his head back under the water and rinsed the suds from his hair, threading her fingers through the strands to ensure that no soap residue remained. 

Turning off the shower, she then led him out to stand on a towel that she’d placed on the floor, before summoning the green towelling bathrobe that hung on the back of the door, duplicating it before handing him one, and wearing the other herself. It was far too big for her of course, trailing on the floor as she walked across the stone floor, out of the bathroom and into the bedchamber. 

Stoking the fire to burn higher to keep the room warm, and dimming the wall sconces to a small glow, she indicated that Severus should get onto the bed in his robe, and she joined him, moving over to lay next to him, her head propped up on her hand as she placed the other upon his chest, watching it rise and fall. 

He watched every move she made, searching for any indication that she was about to run for the hills. 

“Why … are you here?” he asked, at length. 

“Because I want to be,” she answered. 

“Why?”

She gave him a small smile. 

“I have no idea. I just do. I just want to be with you.”

“I believed our interactions to be solely sexual,” he replied. “A mutual sexual attraction between two people who found themselves, for whatever reason … unfulfilled. We met each other’s needs.”

“I agree. But I think now it is more.”

“More?” 

“I care for you, Severus.”

“You … care for me?”

“Very deeply.”

He stared into her eyes, looking for the slightest inkling that she might be teasing him. 

Finding none, he pulled her against him, encouraging her to lay her head upon his chest so that he could wrap his arm around her. She also slung one leg over his, gently winding herself around him like a crawling vine. 

“I care for you too, Hermione,” he muttered, his voice croaky and rusty, as if it were unaccustomed to being used. 

Severus felt her clutch him tighter, as his exhausted eyes finally fluttered closed.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus had grown accustomed to the girl’s presence; to her touch, her voice and her care. Being without her had made five days in Death Eater hell just that little bit worse, if it was even possible to quantify something as being worse than hell.

Chapter 20

It was already mid-morning when they awoke, tangled in a muddle of giant bathrobes that seemed to have expanded during the night, especially Hermione’s. They had both briefly awoken upon hearing the breakfast bell, but had silently been complicit in ignoring it and falling straight back to sleep in the centre of the huge, comfortable bed. 

Severus was in dire need of rest, and Hermione was too, albeit to a lesser extent, since she had not slept at all well in the days that Severus had been missing from the castle. 

He rolled onto his side, extending an arm to assist her in extracting herself from the bathrobe, for she had managed to tie herself up in knots during the night. 

“A little early for bondage, Miss Granger?” he drawled, in his rough, early-morning voice. 

“Very funny, Severus. Now help me.”

He found the end of the waist tie and reversed its path so that she was free and could breathe again, with the dark green towelling robe only loosely wrapped around her. He was tempted to continue unwrapping, but the pain that still emanated dully from between his legs suggested that would not be the most brilliant idea he’d ever had. 

Twirling one of her curls around his finger, he spoke. 

“I told Albus to advise the ancillary staff that he was returning you to your parents for the remainder of the holidays.”

A small smile spread across her face as she processed the information, before spotting the obvious flaw in the plan. 

“But, he hasn’t. Returned me, I mean.”

“He will tell the holiday staff that he has. Believe me, Dumbledore is in no position to cross me at the current time. I have told the headmaster in no uncertain terms that I shall be recovering in my private rooms until the day before the students return, and that I am not to be disturbed.”

“By anyone?”

He pulled her towards him.

“You, Granger, may disturb me as much as you wish.”

“I can stay here too? The whole time?”

“Unless you feel you may tire of me?”

“Are you mad? We can order whatever food we like, whenever we want it, your shower is simply sublime, you have a ridiculously large stock of black t-shirts I can steal, your library is second only to Hogwarts own for sheer quantity and …” she trailed off, noting his raised eyebrow and slightly amused expression. 

“And of course, … you are here.”

“I was wondering what my position on your list would be,” he replied, drily.

“Well, your bookshelves are very impressive, Professor,” she shot back, deadpan. 

“Teasing little witch,” he growled, slipping a hand behind her head and pulling her in for the first kiss of the day, delighting in the feel of her lips that were warm and welcoming against his own. 

How he had missed her. 

Severus had grown accustomed to the girl’s presence; to her touch, her voice and her care. Being without her had made five days in Death Eater hell just that little bit worse, if it was even possible to quantify something as being worse than hell. 

Hermione’s stomach rumbled, loudly. Smirking, he stopped kissing her. 

“I believe that noise marks the time when we should order food?” he asked her, rather unnecessarily. 

She grinned, and sat up, ensuring the bathrobe was still fully wrapped around her, and called for Dobby, who cracked almost immediately into the room and landed on the end of the huge bed, hopping around on the dark-green brocade eiderdown. If the elf was surprised to see the two of them in bed together, he didn’t show it. Hermione supposed that house-elves must see all manner of wild behaviour from their masters and mistresses, and were used to turning a blind eye. 

“Is there any breakfast food left, Dobby?”

“Dobby will be finding this out, Harry Potter’s friend. If not, Dobby will make sure breakfast is cooked for the late risers.”

“Fantastic, thank you. Can you bring a little of everything?”

“Certainly, Miss.”

“Do you realise how much food you have just ordered?” Severus asked her, after Dobby had left for the kitchens to fulfil their order. 

“Of course, I am starving. And you need to eat too, you look half-starved. Your body will simply not function properly without the appropriate nutrition to fuel it. The amount of punishment you seem to put your body through, you should actually be eating more, not less.”

Everything the young witch said was so fucking logical and obvious that he really couldn’t argue with it. He was just so very unaccustomed to being the subject and recipient of such care and concern. Who, in his whole life, had ever taken the trouble, before now, to comment on what he was, or more importantly, was not, eating? 

Madam Pomfrey occasionally cursorily remarked that he could stand to gain some more weight, on the occasions that he’d had need to visit the infirmary, but apart from the old Medi-witch, nothing. 

Until now. 

Until this girl had walked into his life and turned it upside-down. 

The mid-morning breakfast, when it came, was delicious. Dobby had brought it on a large tray which he had set to levitate over the bed so they could serve themselves and eat without even leaving the comfort of the four-poster. Hermione filled her plate with eggs, sausages and toast, and poured them both a tall glass of cold pumpkin juice. As she began to eat with enthusiasm, his own stomach groaned in longing, and he allowed himself to do the same, loading a plate with identical food to her, perhaps an even bigger portion, for he found himself suddenly ravenous.

For the present time, his heart was calm. Given the five-day debauchery at the Vaizey estate, it was unlikely that Voldemort would summon them again any time soon, and he had tacit permission from Albus to closet himself and Hermione in his chambers. He felt as if, for a short time, he had been granted a reprieve from the utter fucking mess that was his life. 

The feeling of stress relieved, for however short a time it may be, rejuvenated his appetite on the spot, the perpetually nauseous churn of his stomach abated. He stabbed his fork into a sausage and took a large bite, enjoying the taste of the well-cooked meat with a hint of apple that he’d never noticed in the school sausages before, as he usually bolted his meals out of necessity. Severus Snape was simply eating his breakfast. How very normal. 

-xxx-

Later that day, they were unashamedly still in bed, although it was at least now neatly made, and they were both dressed in Severus’ black t-shirts. He had levitated in a pile of books from his personal library and these were spread out at the end of the bed as they devoured them as though they were confectionary from Honeydukes. 

Currently Hermione was laying on her side, a book at right-angles to him, and he could see the movement of her eyes as they speedily tracked the words down each page, before turning with a breathless regularity. She was amazing to watch.   
He was leaning back in a stack of pillows against the headboard, his legs resting straight out in front of him on the bed, reading a DADA textbook and occasionally snorting at how outdated and vague it was. His own lessons very rarely came from the book, especially with the older year groups. He could teach them far more from his own mind and memory, than an insipid, decades-old textbook. 

Laying here, semi-clothed on his own bed with a young witch and doing something so everyday and mundane as reading together, was a rather singular experience. Not unpleasant, quite the opposite, but simply something that had never, in his entire life, happened to him before. 

A scratch of a thought crept up on him, niggling at the back of his mind, that this could not carry on once school had restarted. But yet again, he pushed the unpleasant thought down, refusing to contemplate the inevitable. He was determined to enjoy this for now. He would. 

-xxx-

Two days later, both spent in the same leisurely way to promote his mental and physical recovery - simply eating, reading and conversing, Severus began to feel greatly improved. The soreness between his legs had abated, thanks to a combination of time and healing spells. Regular meals and no alcohol had improved his energy levels, and emotionally, he’d had so much care lavished upon him he could honestly swear he’d never been more content. 

Hermione was standing at the large window that she had thrown open to air the room, looking out into the inky night sky, and he silently crossed the room to stand behind her, slipping his arms around her small waist. 

“It is New Year’s Eve tonight, Severus. In an hour’s time we will be in a whole new year.”

“So it is. Do you wish to celebrate?”

“Hmmm. I don’t know. Maybe. How are you feeling?”

“Much improved, thanks to you.”

She turned around, smiling at him in such a secretive yet sensual way that it shot him straight in the groin. Fucking Merlin, she was a beautiful young woman, with no fucking idea of the sexual power she possessed. 

“I have an idea.”

“Do you, indeed. Will I like this idea?”

“I hope so. Come with me.”

“Is that wise?”

“Probably not. But it is after curfew, and should we meet anyone, we can disillusion ourselves.”

Severus was slightly dubious, since Gryffindors were known for ill-thought-out plans at the best of times, but curiosity got the better of him and he pulled on his trousers. If he was going to get caught sneaking around his own school, he at least intended to do it appropriately dressed. 

Hermione followed his lead and found her jeans, still screwed up in the corner of the bathroom. Keeping their wands close to hand, they left his chambers and walked down the small flight of stairs into the Defence classroom, leaving the room with only a small creak of the heavy door, and he secured and warded it after they had passed through. 

She took his hand and they began to walk through the cloistered corridors of Hogwarts castle that they both knew so well. A small Lumos from the end of her wand gave them enough light to find their way, and she was careful to keep it low so that it did not disturb any sleeping portraits. A quick glance at the direction suggested that she was leading him towards the hospital tower. 

As they entered it, she began to climb the stairs, going up and up until they arrived at the fifth floor, hopping neatly over the missing step and entering the hospital corridor, but before reaching the doors to the infirmary, she stopped at the fourth door, next to an odd-looking and rather ugly statue of a lost-looking wizard with his gloves on the wrong hands. A plaque proclaimed that he was ‘Boris the Bewildered’. 

“Do you know where we are?” she whispered.

“I have absolutely no idea,” he replied, honestly, amazed and not a little annoyed that some parts of this castle were still a mystery to him, even after all these years. 

“Pine Fresh,” she hissed in the statue’s ear, and the door next to it swung open.

Hermione pulled Severus inside quickly, closing and bolting the door behind them.

He looked around, gaping. At first, unsettling, sight they had appeared to be in the toilets, as there were a row of them that he’d seen as they walked in. But then he saw what was opposite. There was a huge bathtub, so large it could almost be classed as a small swimming pool, with what must be a hundred taps emptying into it at the wave of Hermione’s wand. 

The taps, despite their number, were each individually set with a different jewel, and different coloured water was spurting from each one, with some emitting soap bubbles and foams alongside the warm jet. There were baskets of bathing supplies along one side of the pool – smaller ones filled with soap, bath oil, bath salts, talcum powder, shampoo and conditioner, and larger ones stuffed with white towels and bathrobes.

Despite the size of the bathtub, it was filling surprisingly fast. That would be magic at work, obviously. She turned around to face him, grinning.

“Do you know where we are now?” 

“I believe, Prefect Granger, that we are in the fabled and much-sought-after Prefects’ Bathroom, unless I am much mistaken?”

“Correct. Have you never been in here, then?”

“I was not selected as a Slytherin House Prefect during my school years.”

“But surely as a teacher …?”

“This room is only for Prefects; the castle’s magic insists upon it. I can assure you, I have never been in this room in my life.”

“Good,” she smirked. “You should enjoy this, then.”

The taps turned off automatically as the pool reached the top level. 

Granger pushed her jeans down her legs and laid them on a bench, before slipping down her knickers, stepping out of them, and handing them to him. He took them, feeling them warm in his hand, unable to tear his eyes from her as she pulled her (his) t-shirt over her head, revealing that she was not wearing a brassiere. 

The little wench then had the audacity to wink at him as she turned away and stepped towards the bath, entering by way of the large, flat steps that led down into the water. He watched every movement, as the water touched her arse cheeks, the tips of her hair, over her narrow shoulders, and finally she submerged herself, swimming a few strokes underwater before bobbing up a little way across the pool, looking like a delicious water sprite, like an untransformed kelpie. 

Happy New Year, Severus, he thought to himself as he felt his cock begin to throb with the beginnings of an erection. Tucking her knickers that he was holding into his trouser pocket, he yanked his own t-shirt over his head with as much speed and dignity as he could muster, and then pushed his trousers and undershorts down together, leaving them in a heap on the floor. Now was not the time for fastidiousness. 

He headed towards the bath steps, very aware that she was watching him intently from across the pool. Strangely, he was not ashamed or self-conscious, rather he was luxuriating under her approving gaze. The water was blissfully warm and soft against his feet. As he reached the bottom step he did as she had done, dipping fully under the water and pushing out for a few strokes, coming up with his long black hair soaked, and he pushed it out of his eyes, searching for Hermione. 

He did not have far to look. 

She swum up to him and wrapped herself around him like Devil’s Snare, and he stood with his feet on the bottom of the pool, the water up to his shoulders, accepting her welcome embrace. She pressed her bare cunt against his hardening prick and dragged his head down to kiss her, wet and warm, the steam from the pool creating patterns in the cooler air around them. It was a heady and intoxicating feeling, mingled with the delicious and varied smells that were assaulting his olfactory nerves, and Severus felt slightly drunk as he allowed her to open his lips and flick her teasing little tongue inside his mouth to entice his own out to play. 

Pushing it into her mouth roughly, without warning, he swiped around her tongue, making her gasp and grip him tighter, determined to hold on to him. He ran his hands down her bare back, the sensual feel of the bathwater and her wet skin giving him an erotic treat. He even allowed his fingers to slip into her puckered rear end, inserting the tip of his smallest finger just far enough to get her writhing around in his arms. 

“Fuck,” she muttered, kissing down his cheek and helping herself to a mouthful of his neck, biting down on the sensitive cords she found there and making him shiver in delight, despite the warmth of the bathroom. 

“I intend for that to be the ultimate end,” he drawled, “but first I wish to have the pleasure of sampling the treats contained in those baskets.” 

Severus walked backwards through the water, pulling her with him, and began to investigate the toiletries, selecting a bottle of shampoo that proclaimed to be made of marshmallows. He raised an eyebrow. 

“Really?” he asked, sceptically. 

“It’s lovely. Try it.”

Without warning, he squirted a generous amount on to her head. 

“I will try it. On you. Turn around.”

He began to massage the shampoo, which did indeed smell of Honeydukes’ marshmallows, as gently as he could into her hair, which was difficult as there was so bloody much of it. He ensured that it was all covered, thoroughly washing every inch of it. She would smell like a sweetshop tomorrow. 

Dipping under the water, she rinsed it all off herself, coming up when all the suds had been washed clear, and grabbed the matching conditioner, slapping a generous amount onto her head. 

“You have never had to deal with such unruly hair as mine,” she muttered. “If I leave it without conditioner, I’ll look like Hagrid by the morning.”

“An attractive thought,” he replied, deadpan. 

She flicked water at him, and he found he enjoyed the playful gesture. Was there some kind of ‘lovesick fool’ potion imbued in this water? He didn’t recognise himself, or his own behaviour as they experimented with the different toiletries, creating masses of bubbles and covering themselves in far too many different scents. 

At length, and after an energising swim around the pool, they both saw and heard fireworks through the tall, stained-glass windows of the Prefects’ Bathroom. 

“Muggles celebrating the New Year. Always with the fireworks,” she quipped. 

He swam across to the wide steps and sat on the middle one. 

“I can think of a better way to celebrate the start of a New Year,” he answered, in a deep voice that vibrated in her ears. 

She looked at him, so darkly sexy, with eyes that burned like black fire, as he rested his arms casually on the sides of the pool, a wicked raven eyebrow raised suggestively in her direction. She swam the few strokes over to him, using the buoyancy of the water to seat herself astride his lap, feeling his erection hard against her. 

“Kiss me, Hermione,” he begged, as she cupped his wet face between her small hands.

Trembling with unidentified emotion as she lowered her lips to his, he slowly closed his eyes as the little witch began to kiss him, swiping her mouth back and forth over his own, teasing him, readying him. He growled, grabbing her head and forcing her to press down upon him, enough with the tormenting, he wanted her, now. 

Her thick, wet hair fell about her face as he pushed her up, slipping his hand between them to manoeuvre his cock inside her, and she sat down upon it, both experiencing the sensation of fucking in water for the first time. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathed, moving his hips and holding her buttocks in place, creating ripples in the surface of the pool with each thrust. 

Undulating and rolling her hips involuntarily, they both began to realise that she was fucking him, that she was driving the movements from her position on his lap. The water was supporting her, and increasing the sensation on every part of their bodies, on every inch of skin. 

Severus stopped thrusting, and allowed himself to experience the pleasure of the young girl rutting in his lap. If he wasn’t careful, this was going to be over far too soon. 

He slipped his hands between her thighs again, parting her upper labia, to which he had full access in their current position, and finding her clitoris, which he began twist and toy with, enjoying the way her increasing arousal caused her to hop around on his cock. 

She increased the speed of her hips, her cunt tugging on his dick in a rhythm that would soon have him coming in a roaring orgasm. He sped up his masturbation of her clit, determined that he would not go there without her. Hermione steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders, and pushed herself harder. She was close to coming, he could feel that, and he tickled the top of her hardened clitoris with the other hand to tip her over. 

Watching her face contort with sexual pleasure, feelings that he alone was delivering her, her chest flushed and her mouth open and gasping though her climax, was all too much and Severus felt himself begin to come in hard spurts, over and over again as he thrust his hips upwards inside her. 

She dropped against him, and he embraced her, remaining inside until they had both come down from their peaks. 

When they had finally stilled, Hermione gently slid herself from the end of his cock, pushing back into the water and pulling him with her until they were deeper into the bath, the water covering their shoulders and only their heads above water. 

The fireworks were still going like merry hell outside the windows, and they watched together the ever-changing colours, listening to the fizzing and popping, and flinching at loud bangs.

Severus gathered her up in his arms.

“I shall not easily forget this New Year’s Eve, Hermione,” he whispered.

She smiled, and kissed him, with far more of her heart than she yet realised.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I needed Miss Granger to have a deeper understanding of who you are, Severus. You and Harry have too much hate and history between you for that ever to be possible. And in the end, Severus, Harry will need to be told everything."

Chapter 21

The evening before school recommenced, Hermione was in Severus’ private office, preparing to leave for Gryffindor Tower, since he’d been advised at the start-of-term staff meeting that afternoon, that students were being returned to school via a one-off Floo connection that the Ministry had arranged. 

He would soon have hundreds of Slytherins arriving in his office fireplace, and it would certainly not do to have a female Gryffindor prefect still there when they started tumbling through.

Minerva was already apoplectic at the thought of how much ash would be trodden into her office carpet by her returning cubs. His only thought was ensuring that none of Miss Granger’s errant knickers were on display in his office, since over the last week he had developed a habit of removing them anywhere and everywhere. He had given her a scroll of parchment to pass to Potter, from the headmaster, no doubt the time of their next ‘secret meeting’. 

Hermione and Severus faced each other, suddenly awkward as they prepared to return to their true roles in life, the festive bubble they had been living in for the past fortnight finally burst. 

They had spent the last six days on a voyage of sexual discovery, each finding out their own preferences, likes and dislikes, limits and fantasies, practising their new skills on one another. They had done nothing but eat, sleep, shower and make love on an endless repeating loop, and it had been blissful for them both. Now it was over, and far from being enough to satisfy them, their time together had only made them each want more. Much more. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll see you in Defence class, Sir,” she ventured, placing a hand on his folded arms, which were held protectively in front of him. 

“Indeed you shall,” he replied, uncrossing his arms and taking hold of her shoulders, thumbing them lightly. “Indeed, you shall.”

“Will we resume our private lessons?”

“I believe that if we do not, I shall run mad. Besides, I have much still to teach you.”

“Friday, nine o’clock?”

“Agreed. Please do not be late.”

Severus squeezed her upper arms and released her. Now was not the time for passionate kisses of farewell. Hermione turned away and headed for the door that would lead down into the Defence classroom. 

As she opened it, he crossed the room in two long strides and insinuated himself behind her, roughly tucking his nose in her hair and pressing his lips to her ear. 

“In addition, Miss Granger, please ensure your knickers are left … off, that evening.”

She blushed scarlet, her face heated and immediately aroused. 

“Go,” he chuckled, slapping her once on the arse.

Snape closed the door behind her, only regretting his remark when he realised he now had a semi-hard erection in his trousers and was facing the imminent arrival of an office-full of returning snakes. 

-xxx-

She was still blushing furiously and her neck was still hot when she arrived at Gryffindor Tower to find Harry, Ginny and Ron at the entrance. They looked at her curiously. 

“Been running, Hermione?”

“Oh, yes sort of, I got back a couple of hours ago, I decided to go back to Mum and Dad’s for most of the holidays after all,” she lied. “I’ve just been down to visit Hagrid and Buck – I mean Witherwings, that’s why I’m far too warm now, you know, inside after being outside. Did you have a good Christmas?”

Ron started to mumble something about a visit from Rufus Scrimgeour, but Hermione ignored him. She had decided it was best to keep up the pretence that she was still annoyed with him about Lavender Brown, it kept attention away from … other matters. 

Diverting the conversation by giving them the new password, ‘Abstinence’, in deference to the Fat Lady’s overindulgence during the Yule holidays, she passed Harry the parchment from Dumbledore, which he was pleased to note advised his next lesson was the following evening. They all climbed through the portrait hole, and Ron was set upon by an enthusiastic Lavender, who hurtled out of nowhere and flung herself into his arms, attaching her rubbery lips to his like a sink plunger. Hermione raised an eyebrow in distaste. 

Harry led her over to a spare table in the common room where they could resolutely ignore the snogging couple. She was honestly more annoyed at Lavender, for generally being such a bitch to her and lusting after McLaggen whilst throwing herself all over Ron, who was bound to get hurt eventually. It was all so … puerile. She much preferred what she had with Severus, whatever that was. 

“So how was your Christmas?” Harry asked, conversationally.

“Oh, fine,” she shrugged. “Nothing special.”

Nothing could have been further from the truth. 

He did not seem too interested in the veracity of her answer, however, and launched into a long explanation of why he believed Draco Malfoy to be a Death Eater. Whilst Hermione and Severus had not had that particular conversation; she had seen Draco leave with him twice after being summoned, and privately thought that Harry’s theory was entirely correct. She didn’t encourage it though.

Whatever Draco had been forced into, and she had no doubt he had been forced, he was not even of age, it would not be helped by Harry Potter on his trail. She did her best to provide plenty of logical reasons as to why Malfoy could not possibly have been marked as a Death Eater. 

Since they had all returned so late, dinner was not served in the Great Hall, a light supper was instead delivered to each common room, and students were then expected to retire to bed. Hermione lay in her dormitory, listening to the elephantine snores of Lavender Brown and the incessant sleep-talking from Parvati Patil, and wished she were back in the private and quiet chambers of a certain dark professor, comforted and protected within the embrace of his strong arms. 

-xxx-

Severus was fucking exhausted. 

The first full day of lessons of the new term had been a long day. To go back into the classroom and teach, after the fortnight of erotic and emotional bliss he had just experienced was testing, to say the least. 

Thankfully, he had not had to teach the sixth-years, and therefore, Hermione, that day. That particular treat was timetabled for the final double-lesson period tomorrow. He wasn’t sure whether his anticipation was delight at seeing her, or dread … at seeing her, and not being able to touch her. 

It took less than thirty seconds of the late-afternoon Tuesday lesson for him to be illuminated with the answer. 

The Gryffindor Slytherin sixth-year cohort entered the room, all juvenile swagger and insouciant attitudes, and took their places as they always did, looking up at his desk on its raised platform and awaiting his instruction as to whether they should open their books or not. 

Fuck. 

The sight of Hermione, now fully Miss Granger again, seated in the second row next to Potter in her school uniform, her innocent face expectant as it always had been in lessons, hit him harder in the gut than some of the Dark Lord’s curses.   
He had spent the past fortnight fucking this … child. 

He’d managed to convince himself, whilst she was cloistered in his chambers, that she was a young woman, an adult, an equal – but the untruth of that was sitting before him at a student desk wearing a red and gold striped Gryffindor tie.   
What in Merlin’s name did he think he had been doing?

Severus loosened the tight cravat around his neck, desperately trying to open his airways, lest he collapse with a heart attack in front of the class. 

“Are you alright, Sir?”

The uncertain voice of Dean Thomas spoke up from the front row of desks. 

“I am quite all right, Mr Thomas. I simply need a glass of water.”

He reached for a tumbler and cast Aguamenti, drinking the cold water gratefully as the students looked on, bemused at his behaviour, and possibly surprised that Professor Snape was human enough to simply have a frog in his throat and require a drink of water. He snuck a look at Hermione, and her eyes betrayed concern. 

Get a grip, man, he chided himself. 

Regaining hold of his composure after its momentary loss, he instructed the class to take out quills and parchment and began to deliver the lesson in his usual low, threatening tone. He recapped on everything they had been taught about shield charms the previous term, and ended the double period by setting them a wickedly difficult essay on the subject, which was to contain not only what they knew, but also to research different types of magical shields and find at least one that they had not yet covered in class. 

The sixth-years left the room audibly grumbling about being given such a long and complex piece of homework on their second day back. 

Just get on with it, you little shits, he thought. This information might just save your lives, and sooner than you might think. 

Severus noticed that Hermione was taking a long time to pack her bag, dropping a case of quills on the floor and waving Potter and Weasley away, telling them to go for dinner and not to wait for her. When she was the only one left in the classroom and he’d heard the footsteps of the final students to leave falter away down the corridor, he picked up his wand. He flicked it at the classroom door, slamming and bolting it. She jumped, and looked up at him.

Remaining seated behind his desk, he watched her leave her bag on her student bench and approach him, heading straight around the desk to stand next to him and place her hand lightly on his shoulder. 

“What is the matter?”

As soon as he felt her touch, it electrified him. His shoulder burned where her small hand laid upon it. He looked up at her, fixing her with his black eyes, full of emotion now. 

“I could not help it. I looked out upon you … you are a child, Miss Granger. You are my student. I felt … guilt, I felt …shame.”

She pushed his chair back from the desk, and it moved easily since it was on wheels, throwing one leg over his lap and straddling him, the seat of her knickers against the crotch of his trousers. She gave a few small rolls of her hips and felt his large dick underneath her.

“What are you doing?” he groaned, moving his own hips somewhat reluctantly against hers. 

“I do not want there to be shame or guilt between us. You know I am not a child. Just because I wear this uniform, it does not affect who I am when we are together, as adults.”

“Ours is an unequal relationship. I am in a position of authority over you.”

“And I respect that. My work will be of the same quality as I have always produced.”

“I have no doubt that it will, Granger.”

“And outside of the classroom, outside of our assigned roles …” she reached between them and unfastened his trousers, deftly slipping his erection out of his undershorts and beginning a slow wank along his cock, just how he liked it. “Outside of that, our relationship is of equals. Of mutual support. Of … of attraction.”

“Attraction is one way of putting it,” he muttered, reaching under her skirt and pulling the seat of her knickers to one side, dipping his fingers between her lips. 

“Do you want to end this?” she asked him, bluntly. 

He looked at her, displaying both fear and want in his eyes. 

“I cannot let you go.”

Hermione rose up on her knees and he moved his cock to her entrance, already damp with arousal at his touch, and slipped the rounded head inside her. Pushing down so that she sheathed him fully, he emitted a long groan and thought about how fucking delicious she felt wrapped around him. 

Severus worked his fingers under her knickers, gripping one peachy arse cheek in each hand and began to move her against him, encouraging her movements and building up the friction they both needed. 

He tried to ignore the fact that he had a student rutting in his lap whilst at his desk in the classroom, but as he began to reach his plateau, he strangely decided to let go of the guilt. He was going to fuck this girl anyway, so he might as well enjoy it. 

Looking out upon the empty Defence classroom, him fully dressed in his black teaching robes with Granger on the end of his cock in her school uniform, grey skirt rucked up around her waist and her bare arse in his hands, he instead thought about how fucking erotic the situation was. Surely this was every professor’s wet dream, taking a stunning student roughly at their own desk? 

He was so sick and fucking tired of feeling guilty.

Snape sat back, and allowed the little witch to writhe in his lap, fucking them both higher. He fiddled with her clit, and she was soon gasping out tiny pants which he loved, driving her hips faster, rubbing along every inch of him as she climaxed, until he exploded himself. Severus placed his feet flat on the floor and thrust up inside her, determined to gift her with every drop of his come. 

Hermione leaned forwards and placed her forehead on his, both breathing heavily. 

“I will not allow you to let me go, Sir,” she whispered. 

“Thank Merlin for that,” he replied, pulling his wand from his sleeve and casting a contraceptive charm upon her stomach. 

She felt the familiar reassuring flutter inside as the spell took hold, and she laid her head upon his shoulder as he gathered her up in his arms, keeping her bundled up on his lap for a long time, just holding her, until the clang of the dinner bell ringing down the echoing corridors forced them to part. 

“Shit,” he cursed, lifting her off his now flaccid cock and setting her on her feet. 

Hermione was hastily tidying her skirt and sending a cleansing charm between her legs, which she flicked over to include his own damp penis before he tucked it away, when she had a thought. 

“I cannot walk out of your classroom at this time,” she panicked, “the hallways will be full of students.”

Severus thought fast. 

“Do you still have the key to the library?”

She nodded, patting her schoolbag that she had picked up and slung over her shoulder, indicating that the key was within. 

“Good. Pince will already have locked the library and be on her way to the Great Hall, she eats early so she can return to her beloved books in time for the evening homework session. I shall Apparate you there, and you can let yourself out, making your way to dinner from the library, which I should imagine is not the least bit unusual for you. I shall return here, and leave for the Great Hall as I always do.”

“That works,” she replied, quickly taking hold of his hand for Side-Along. 

There was a crackle of Apparition and they landed in the deserted library. 

Well, almost deserted. 

Madam Pince was standing at her desk, clearly just about to leave for dinner and was effecting some last-minute tidying. 

“Fuck,” Severus mumbled under his breath, but so quietly that only Hermione would have been able to hear him. 

Irma Pince removed her pince-nez spectacles and allowed them to hang loose on the gold chain she wore around her neck, regarding the unusual pair that had just Apparated into her sanctum. 

Hermione Granger was hand-in-hand with the Defence professor and in a place she was currently not meant to be. Pince’s sharp, black eyes flitted between the two of them, her grey hair pulled back in an even tighter bun than usual, making her face taut and severe. 

“I presume, Miss Granger, that you should be on your way to dinner, not standing here in the library, am I correct?”

Hermione gulped. 

“Yes, Madam Pince.”

She let go of Severus’ hand and stepped closer to the old librarian, rifling in her bag for the library key and held it out to her. 

“Here is the key you so kindly lent me. Thank you, I made good use of it over the holidays.”

Madam Pince arched an eyebrow but did not take the key from her outstretched hand. 

“And do you have no further use for it, Miss Granger?”

“Um … oh. I mean, if I can still keep it, I would certainly appreciate that?”

“You may continue to keep hold of it. My original rules still apply.”

“I know that. Thank you, Madam Pince.”

Hermione returned the key safely to her bag, and hesitated. 

“You were leaving for the Great Hall, girl?” Pince questioned. 

“Yes. Sorry. Thank you.”

She hot-footed it out of the library and joined the last of the crowds heading toward the smell of a served dinner that was threading its way through the corridors, not turning back to look at him. Severus watched her go, and braced himself for the inevitable. Irma Pince swung around to face him, her face not full of anger, as he’d expected, but instead he saw worry and concern. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing, Severus?”

“Something I do not intend to stop. That girl is currently the only thing keeping me sane.”

The librarian’s shoulders dropped as she exhaled.

“You have to be careful.”

“You do not think I know that?”

“What was … this then?” she demanded, gesturing towards where Hermione had been standing beside him. 

“An … error.”

“Oh, Severus,” she shook her head, sadly. 

“Do not feel sorry for me, Madam, I am quite in control of the situation. I thank you for your discretion.”

She gave him a single nod, and received a rare lop-sided smile in return, before he Apparated away. She wouldn’t tell anyone he could do that, either.

-xxx-

Hermione and Severus settled into a safe, if frustrating, routine over the next few weeks, which turned interminably into a month, and then two. She no longer held back after Defence classes, because that would look extremely suspicious if she were constantly waiting after lessons for the surly professor that everyone hated. She behaved as she always had in class, an attentive and interested student, homework handed in on time and completed to the best of her ability, receiving a flurry of well-deserved O’s and E’s from all teachers. 

Granger had not entered his private rooms since the holidays, and he had not Apparated into Gryffindor Tower or her dormitory, it would have been an impossibility with other students and her dorm-mates around. 

Severus continued to walk the precarious tightrope between the two masters to whom he was beholden, being summoned less frequently now that school was back in session, and attending meetings at Grimmauld Place when required. 

Hermione had been furious that Minerva had forbidden her from attending Order meetings during term time, as she had assumed that once she turned seventeen she would be inducted as full member of the Order. It certainly seemed a reasonable request, since everything pointed to Potter having a vital mission bequeathed to him by Albus, and no doubt the stupid boy would need Granger’s logic and intellect every step of the way. But she had been denied, Minerva’s intention no doubt to keep Hermione safe. 

Their private lessons continued every Friday evening at nine o’clock, the only time each week when they could be alone together, but even these had been ruined by sporadic visits from the headmaster, ostensibly to meet with Severus, but clearly to check up of the two of them. 

Albus had unusually laid his cards on the table during the very first week of term.

Severus and Hermione had been in the Defence classroom for her tutorial, and he had been assisting her to practice her Occlumency, in particular, her ability to display a credible false memory in the place of an Occluded one, as she was struggling in this area. Blocking out an intruder was something she could do admirably, but the replacing the gaps was proving more difficult. 

Never one to back down from a challenge, Granger had insisted that he drive her harder and harder, forcing herself to practise the false memories until her eyes were red and sore, and her head was pounding. 

“Enough,” he had said, breaking the Legilimency connection and lifting his hand to her cheek, softly stroking her face. “Enough for tonight, Hermione.”

He had just been about to lean in and steal the long-awaited kiss from her pink lips when there was a loud knock at the door, which was thrown open without waiting for his response, and Dumbledore had entered, his silver robes shimmering gaudily in Snape’s dull and gloomy Defence classroom. 

“Occlumency practice, eh?” he’d boomed, as he approached the two of them at the front of the room. “Excellent, Miss Granger, excellent. How is she doing, Severus?”

“Miss Granger is demonstrating good practical use of Occlumency, Headmaster. We have been working tonight on replacement memories, which she finds more challenging.”

“I can do it, Sir,” she insisted, not wanting to look stupid in front of Dumbledore. 

“No doubt you can, Miss Granger, no doubt you can. And how is your teaching of Mr Potter? Has he been able to learn any Occlumency skills from yourself?”

“Harry, um … Harry finds Occlumency very difficult,” she replied, tactfully leaving out the fact that Harry had threatened to Incendio her homework planner if she attempted to teach him Occlumency ever again.

“I am aware,” he chuckled. “Still, you seem to be coming along well?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now, I am presuming that the two of you are finished with your lesson, since there is little more than half an hour until prefect’s curfew?” 

Neither of them answered him. Neither told him what they really wanted to, which was that they had half an hour to catch up on their snogging and … other intimacies, and what they would really like was for the headmaster to please sod off and let them get on with it?

“Good, good,” Albus continued, taking their silence for agreement. “As I have need to talk with you Severus, regarding your detention schedule for this weekend, if you would excuse us, Miss Granger?”

Hermione reluctantly got to her feet and picked up her bag, sneaking a look at Severus, whose face looked like he was sucking on a particularly large and bitter wedge of lemon. 

“Of course,” she choked. “Thank you, Professor Snape, for the lesson. Do have an enjoyable weekend.”

He nodded curtly by way of reply, watching her walk between the rows of student desks and out of his classroom, out of his arms, away from his lips that had been inches from kissing her. 

Once she had left, he whirled around to face the headmaster, who appeared not to be at all cowed by the murderous expression on his Defence professor’s face.

“What the hell are you playing at, old man?” he hissed, angrily.

“I think it would be more accurate, Severus,” Dumbledore began, calmly settling himself into the transfigured armchair that Hermione had just vacated, “to instead ask you, what you are … ‘playing at’, as it were?”

Severus threw himself crossly back into his own opposite armchair.

“You know exactly what is going on, Albus. You practically pushed her into my arms!”

Dumbledore twirled a strand of his long, grey beard around a finger of his undamaged hand in an irritating manner. 

“I was prepared to overlook certain … indiscretions, during the holidays, due to your agitated state upon returning from Voldemort. However, school is now back in session and I insist that everything is kept above board.”

Severus’ mouth dropped fully open in flabbergasted shock. 

“You told me to engage with her. You told me that it was ‘no problem’ if I desired her.”

“I must admit I did not expect her to return your attentions.”

Snape allowed a ppffff of annoyance to escape his lips at the insult, as he shook his head in disbelief at the headmaster’s words. Either that, or he might actually punch this meddling old coot right in the face, like he’d eventually done to his bastard Muggle father. 

“I know you have Seen, Albus. I know you have a fucking Time Turner secreted in your desk and I know there is a reason you wanted me to build a relationship with Miss Granger. Well, now I have. And yet, you are still not satisfied.”

Dumbledore shook his head in an irritatingly benign manner.

“I do not know from where you have obtained the idea that I possess a Time Turner,” he replied. 

“Oh, come on!”

Albus leaned forwards, resting his thin arms, one normal, and one so horrifically damaged, on his thighs, as if encouraging the younger wizard into his confidence. 

“I needed Miss Granger to have a deeper understanding of who you are, Severus. You and Harry have too much hate and history between you for that ever to be possible. And in the end, Severus, Harry will need to be told everything. 

To prevent him attempting to kill you for the role you have played in his life, you require a conduit, a go-between, if you will, a person whom Harry trusts beyond all other, but also a person with enough heart and intellect to be able to see you as you are. Hermione Granger fitted the requirements on all levels. She understands you both.”

Severus felt his breath being taken away. It was so fierce he felt like a Dementor had entered his classroom through the window and was attempting to administer the Kiss upon him. 

“You tricked me,” he growled, malevolently.

“I did not.”

“You. Tricked. Me. You led me to assume that you had Seen the future, and that myself and Miss Granger were somehow, in the future … together.”

“I did nothing of the kind. Any presumptions are entirely of your own invention.”

Snape’s chest felt tight. He hadn’t been this angry, but also this bereft, for a very long time. 

“You are without doubt, the most manipulative wizard I have met in my entire life. And that includes the time I spend with the fucking Dark Lord himself.”

Albus shook his head, sadly. 

“My boy, everything I have done, everything I have planned, including the manner of my own demise, is for the greater good. To enable future generations to live in a world free of Tom Riddle and his dangerous ideals. You are part of that plan, whether you like it not. You swore me your allegiance. I took you in when you had nowhere to go. I trusted you when no one else would have done so. A man bearing the Dark Mark teaching at Hogwarts? How preposterous. No other Headmaster would have done what I did. You owe me everything, Severus.”

Snape lay his head against the back of the armchair in resignation, his lank, greasy hair falling in limp strands around his face. 

“What do you require of me?” he asked helplessly, backed into a corner liked a caged animal. 

“Nothing that you are not already doing. The day when you must fulfil your promise to end my suffering draws near, we both know this. I see that Mr Malfoy is under great strain with the burden of my assassination that has been placed upon him. I shall be happy to see that strain relieved.”

“Every day you give me more reasons to cast the Avada upon you, Albus,” he muttered. 

“Well, that should certainly make it easier when the great day arrives then,” Dumbledore replied, cheerfully, as if he were discussing the weather, not his own murder. 

Severus rolled his eyes in a petulant fashion as the headmaster rose to leave.

“Oh, one last thing, Severus?”

“Yes?”

“You will find that I quite often pop in during, or near the end of your private sessions with Miss Granger. Just to see how the tutorials are progressing, you understand? I regret that my visits will be unannounced. You understand me, I’m sure?”

“Oh, I understand you,” he replied, darkly.

No sooner than the headmaster left than Severus had up-ended every desk in his classroom, crashing them to the stone floor before blasting the dragon bones from the ceiling and smashing the glass in the cupboard doors along the walls. Anything, anything, to attempt to release the rolling wave of pure livid anger that was tearing his guts apart. 

Everything in his miserable life was always taken from him. 

He had not one thing, was not allowed one person, to call his own.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do trust you, Granger. But you cannot have this information. Your Occlumency is not yet strong enough to be able to hide it … should you need to. Suffice to say that all will become clear … at the close.”

Chapter 22

Hermione was seated in the packed Quidditch stands on Saturday afternoon with hundreds of enthusiastic Gryffindors awaiting the start of their match against Hufflepuff. Ron was still in the hospital after being accidentally poisoned by a bottle of mead owned by Professor Slughorn, and it had been Harry’s (and the rest of the team’s) bad luck that Cormac McLaggen was next in line to replace him as Keeper. She had to admit that at least McLaggen was a good player and would hopefully help Gryffindor to a win. 

Cormac had kept his distance from her for over two months since returning after the Christmas holidays. He had not bothered to come and apologise, as Severus had instructed he do after he’d physically removed McLaggen from her person after Slughorn’s party, but neither had he bothered her, either. This was absolutely fine with her. Cormac was good-looking, but a social and intellectual dung beetle, the loss of his attentions had caused her no distress whatsoever. 

What was causing Hermione distress, was that her time with Severus had been so viciously curtailed. They were still having their private tutorials on Friday evenings, and during these lessons he was extremely intense in his determination to equip her with as many defensive skills as he could, to imbue her with as much knowledge as he possessed of the more complex forms of dark magic. These private lessons though, were now always ended by Dumbledore coming in to the classroom on some pretext or another either during or near the end of each session, sometimes right at the beginning, in an obvious attempt to ‘catch them out’. There was certainly no scope in using the tutoring time for any illicit snogging, much less sneaking off to his chambers to make love. 

However, an unexpected bonus that the enforced lack of sexual contact had given them, was more time to talk. The initial weeks of their relationship, for there really was no other word for it, had been spent discovering each other sexually, both in urgent need of sexual contact from the other, a continual wave of physical urgency. 

Now, in between the valuable skills he was teaching her, not least honing her Occlumency, guiding her to refine her otter Patronus; assisting her make it more fully-corporeal and how to command it, plus drilling her on the part of her magical core that she need to access in order to Apparate successfully in readiness for her upcoming Apparition test; there had been many conversations. 

Private, personal conversations that they engaged in whilst seated in their transfigured armchairs that sat opposite one another, and could be halted in a second should the headmaster burst into the classroom. They had learned each other’s bodies, and now they were learning each other’s minds. 

With encouragement, Severus had hesitatingly told her of his early life in a grim Muggle town in the north of England, rough streets of identical houses where all the fathers had worked at the mill, and when it had closed down, every family had been affected.   
Some men went out and found new jobs, moving away to pastures new and rising their families from the ashes, but others had sunk into crippling depressions that had led to alcoholism, drug use, suicide and domestic abuse. 

His own father, an unpleasant-sounding Muggle by the name of Tobias Snape, had been a drunk who regularly beat his witch wife, Eileen, and son, Severus. Instead of finding new employment, Tobias spent the rest of his days drinking himself into a stupor with the meagre social benefit payments he received from the Muggle government. 

Under her gentle questioning, Severus revealed that his home life had been far from stable, his mother bullied and oppressed by her violent, angry husband. Always hungry and poorly-clothed due to lack of money, his developing magic had been a source of friction between himself and his father, and he recalled returning to Hogwarts each September thinner and more battered than when he’d left. 

His father had died not long after Severus had completed his NEWT exams, and as far as the Muggle authorities were concerned, officially the man had passed away from cirrhosis of the liver after decades of alcohol abuse, however he confided to Hermione that in truth, Tobias Snape had been killed by an unknown spell from the end of his mother’s wand. Following this, Eileen Snape had gone into hiding to escape Azkaban for the murder of her husband. 

Severus had not seen her again. 

Hermione’s eyes had blurred with tears of sympathy, but she had not allowed them to fall, knowing that he would not appreciate her cries of pity. What he wanted and needed was what she could give him now; support, time, a listening ear and physical affection, when she was able to. Currently a quick hug and a chaste kiss of greeting when she arrived for her private sessions were all they permitted themselves. 

The blissful smell of him as he pulled her tight against the dark black material of his robes was so familiar that it made her want to weep with longing. He would drop his mouth so devastatingly slowly to hers, it was as if he were savouring the moment that their lips would meet, before kissing her with such gentleness, almost in slow-motion, in order to extend the forbidden touch of his lips against hers. 

In turn, Hermione had told him of her life growing up as a Muggle in the Cotswolds, the only child of a pair of dentists, loving parents but busy professionals who worked long hours. He had been interested to learn that her father was nearly two decades older than her mother, and had been a qualified and practising dentist before her mother had even graduated from her university course. 

Hermione described her struggle with the accidental bursts of her developing magic, her trials at Muggle primary school where she had always felt so very different from the other children, and her isolation as her know-it-all personality had alienated her even further still. He had smirked at that one. 

“Hopefully, I am a little easier to tolerate now,” she told him, a little frostily. 

“Only because you chose to have a friendship with two of the most irritating boys it has ever been my great misfortune to teach. You could not possibly be more annoying than Harry Potter or Ronald Weasley. That displays good judgement in your choice of companions, Miss Granger, despite all evidence to the contrary.”

She had shot a feisty little stinging hex to his arm, by way of a slap, for his rudeness.

“Do not abuse the teaching staff, Granger,” he had chided, the look of desire in his eyes suggesting that was exactly what he would like her to do. 

“A chance would be a fine thing,” she had huffed. 

Dumbledore’s impeccable sense of crap timing had then intervened as the headmaster entered, and enquired as the progress of their lesson thus far that evening. 

An enormous shout rose up from the Quidditch stands, jolting her from her thoughts. Harry and McLaggen appeared to be having a stand-up row in the centre of the pitch, apparently Cormac had been yelling at Ginny for letting the Quaffle out of her possession and allowing Hufflepuff to score. Harry was now yelling right back at McLaggen, that he was the captain, his face purple with anger behind his glasses. 

Luna Lovegood was today’s commentator for the match, and her dreamy, nonsensical remarks were causing much mirth among the crowd, especially when McGonagall kept repeatedly taking the microphone from Luna to correct her, or to announce such mundane things as the current score. 

Hermione scanned the other teachers alongside McGonagall. The head of Hufflepuff house, Professor Sprout, was there of course, wrapped in an enormous Hufflepuff scarf and waving a yellow and black flag, as well many of the other staff members from both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. There were also a few Ravenclaw professors, and Snape was there too, sitting visibly apart from the other teachers and glaring scathingly at the verbal brawl that was taking place on the pitch between Harry and Cormac. 

Severus loved Quidditch, another snippet of information that she had learnt during their many conversations, and had wished to play for Slytherin whilst at school, but due to his unpopularity within his own house, this had never happened. He was a Chaser, he’d told her, and loved to fly. Therefore, he would always attend the school Quidditch matches, even if they did not involve Slytherin. He found the noise and the atmosphere a welcome distraction from the other demands on his time, and enjoyed watching the games unfold. 

She remembered a time when he strode out to referee one of Harry’s matches in their first year, they had only found out later that it was to protect Harry from another attack whilst playing. Hermione struggled to remembered what kind of flyer he had been as he’d sped around the pitch with his long black hair streaking out behind him, for she had been only a child at the time. She had not seen him fly since, and she had to admit it was something she was keen to see as an adult, to see that side of him, quick and lithe upon a racing broomstick. 

He was not engaging with any of the staff around him, but seemed solely fixated upon the pitch. She knew he was annoyed. Their discussion the previous evening during their tutorial had led to Ron’s poisoning, and she had put her theory to him that she believed there was a connection between that, and the cursing of Katie Bell with the opal necklace.

“How so?” he had asked her, although the eyes she was beginning to understand so well betrayed a certain reticence to hear the answer. 

She had repeated the theory she had extrapolated to Harry, Hagrid and the younger Weasleys earlier that day. 

“Well, for one thing, both attacks ought to have been fatal and they weren’t, although that was pure luck. And for another, neither the poison nor the necklace seems to have reached the person who was supposed to be killed. And that,” she had added, “makes the person behind this even more dangerous in a way, because they don’t seem to care how many people they finish off before they actually reach their victim.”

He had shifted in his seat and looked inexorably guilty. 

“You know more about this than you are letting on, don’t you?” she had accused. 

“Even if I did, I could not tell you, you know this,” he had sighed. “Suffice to say that both events lead to me to regret even further the untenable position I find myself in.”

It had been a cryptic answer, and she hadn’t been satisfied. 

“Is that why you were arguing with the Headmaster?” she had blundered, making his face flash with anger. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Um, Hagrid told us that he overheard you arguing with Dumbledore, and that you had sounded quite cross. Telling him that he ‘took too much for granted’, and that you ‘didn’t want to do it anymore’.”

“Did he indeed? I shall be having words with Rubeus before the weekend is out.”

Hermione had reached across and grasped his knee.

“Oh, please don’t. Don’t get Hagrid into trouble. He wasn’t gossiping, it sounded as if he was genuinely concerned about you, actually.”

“Unlikely.”

“I’m serious. Hagrid is a good man, full of heart and compassion. But what he said worried me. I know that Dumbledore is using you as a spy for the Order, and I know that he sends you to … to Voldemort. But, why do you do it? What hold does Dumbledore have over you? I mean, we all want to fight Voldemort, but why is your role so different, so dangerous? Why are you obliged to risk your life again and again?”

“Do not poke around in matters that do not concern you, Hermione,” he warned, stiffly. 

“Oh, come off it. We are closer than that, Severus.”

She reached forward and took hold of both his hands, flicking her eyes towards the door lest the headmaster burst through at that very moment, as he was wont to do. 

“Trust me. Please. Let me help you.”

Snape had stared at her, allowing her to gently thumb the palms of his hands, gifting him with her touch. 

“I do trust you, Granger. But you cannot have this information. Your Occlumency is not yet strong enough to be able to hide it … should you need to. Suffice to say that all will become clear … at the close.”

Strangely enough, Hermione understood his meaning. He was protecting her, not wanting to burden her with more than he felt she could cope with. But what about him? What about his burdens?

She looked up again at the dour-faced wizard in the staff Quidditch stand, alone, both physically and mentally. As if he had felt someone staring at him, his eyes scanned the crowd and found hers, locked upon his own. He held them for a few seconds, his expression unchanging.

I am here for you, Severus, she thought, wondering how she could send that information across a Quidditch pitch using a Legilimency connection. 

At that moment, there was a ferocious roar from all sides and she swung her attention back to the game, just in time to see Harry falling unconscious from his broom, a Bludger speeding away from him where it had obviously just whacked him in the head, and Cormac McLaggen, the keeper, wielding a Beater’s bat that he should not have been holding and wearing a shocked expression. 

Oh fuck. 

She jumped from her seat and headed for the pitch, needing to get to her friend and discover the severity of Harry’s latest Quidditch injury. 

-xxx-

Severus had just extracted ten points from Harry for arriving late to Defence class, and collected in their Dementor essays with a careless wave of his wand so that the scrolls soared into the air and landed in a neat pile upon his desk, when Seamus Finnigan stuck his hand up and asked Professor Snape what the difference was between Inferius and ghosts. 

It had led to a heated, and somewhat ridiculous, discussion that started with Severus’ opinion as to the reliability of the Daily Prophet, continued on to the ‘smelly sneak-thief’ Mundungus Fletcher, revealed that Inferi are corpses reanimated to do a dark wizard’s bidding, that ghosts are the imprint of a departed soul, not just transparent, and ended with Ron losing Gryffindor an additional ten points for insolence. 

Sneaking glances at Harry, Ron and Severus during the remainder of the lesson, Hermione could see that all three wizards were seething with anger after their verbal pissing contest. Honestly, what a load of idiots. She rolled her eyes, internally of course, for no doubt if Snape saw that he would take points from her too, the mood he had been provoked into. 

As the lesson ended and they left the classroom, Lavender caught up with them, eager for any chance to spend time with Ron now that he had been released from the hospital wing, and Hermione took the chance to mysteriously melt out of sight and dash back to speak to Severus. Ron wouldn’t notice her missing, and if Harry did, he would assume she had made a run for it due to her dislike of being around Lavender and Ron together. 

Snape looked up, surprised, as she re-entered the classroom, pushing the door closed behind her and bolting it. 

“This is unwise, Miss Granger,” he warned, standing behind his desk, still spiky from Potter and Weasley pissing him off during the lesson. 

“They won’t notice I’m gone, this time,” she explained, and she quickly approached him, mindful of the short time they had, taking hold of his hands and pulling him towards her. 

He could not help but wrap his arms around her and envelope her small frame with his flowing robes, planting hard kisses to the top of her head, down the side of her face and onto her lips in desperation, knowing their time was so very limited. He then embraced her, his whole body needy for her touch. 

“I can’t bear this,” she told his chest, in a small voice.

He held on to her for a long time, breathing in her scent just as she was doing with him. Hermione could feel the steady beat of his heart against her ear, and revelled in just being with him. 

After a while, they pulled apart, and he held her by her upper arms. 

“I need more, Severus,” she confessed, looking up at him. 

“And you believe that I do not?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He leaned forward and placed one kiss on her forehead, another on her nose, and then a final one, slowly upon her lips. 

“There is one possibility. But I am loath to share it with you.”

“What?” she answered, “Tell me. If it means we can spend some time together …”

He hesitated. 

“There is … a chamber. A hidden room, accessible only to the current Head of Slytherin house. It was secreted within the castle by Salazar himself.”

“The Chamber of Secrets?” she asked, a little worried. 

“No,” he replied, a slight quirk of his lips passing for a smile, “not the Chamber of Secrets. But a similar idea. Salazar Slytherin was not above creating and hiding places within Hogwarts castle for his own comforts, unbeknown to the rest of the staff. Like his other creations, it is unplottable, undiscoverable to anyone but the Slytherin Head and any … guests they may wish to invite. It also cannot be discovered on any fucking Marauders’ Map.”

“That sounds perfect. Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”

A shadow of guilt passed across his face. 

“It is a Dark chamber, Hermione. Whilst it is certainly comfortable, in that it is furnished and well-appointed, there are certain … unsavoury histories attached to it. You may not find everything to your liking.”

She was confused.

“You’re going to have to tell me more, now. I am curious.”

“The dark, lustful side of me wishes to show you more. But I do not wish to frighten you.”

“Can we try it? If I hate it we can always leave?”

He stroked her hair as she attempted to persuade him, enjoying the feel of her curls under his hand. 

“Brave, stupid little Gryffindor.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, you teasing witch, it is indeed a yes, and I shall tell you why.”

She smiled, and Severus leaned in close to her, placing his lips right next to her ear. 

“My own hand is not nearly so satisfying as the feel of your hot cunt around my cock,” he whispered, gruffly. 

Hermione flushed scarlet at the coarseness of his words, but loved them in equal measure, feeling a pulse of desire in the seat of her knickers. 

“I don’t feel sorry for you. I share a dormitory, I’ve had to simply put up with my sexual frustration,” she retorted, enjoying his raised eyebrow of surprise at her answer. 

“Are you telling me that you have not reached completion since we were last together?”

“No, I bloody haven’t,” she grumbled. 

Snape gave her a rare, full smile – and it looked wickedly beautiful upon his face, and he once again gathered her into his embrace. 

“Oh, Hermione, when we meet in Salazar’s chamber, that will be the very first job I attend to. And most likely the second and third also. We will overrun you with orgasms, little angel.”

She gave him a final kiss on the lips before letting him go, and reluctantly leaving the classroom. 

-xxx-

Harry came to find her and Ron in the Great Hall, where they were midway through an early lunch, after having been in Hogsmeade for the official practice session prior to the Apparition test. 

Harry had yet again been trailing Draco Malfoy, who was also not old enough to Apparate, whilst the majority of their year had been out of the castle, and attempting to get into the Room of Requirement to find out what Draco was up to. 

He had also run into Tonks, stationed in Hogsmeade for his protection, but oddly, she had been up at the castle searching for Dumbledore instead. From this, Harry had somehow decided that because of this odd behaviour, she must have been in love with Sirius, and was still grieving his death. 

Hermione was certain that Tonks had not been in love with her second cousin, and that there must be a more logical and possibly more worrying explanation, but right now her mind was too full of Apparating and the three D’s to pay Harry too much attention. She had been pleased with her efforts during the practice session, performing three successful Apparitions in front of Wilkie Twycross, the Ministry-appointed instructor who had been teaching them all term.

“I did it, Harry!” Ron had told him, enthusiastically. “Well, kind of. I was supposed to be Apparating to Madam Puddifoot’s and I overshot it a bit, ended up near Scrivenshaft’s, but at least I moved!”

Harry had congratulated Ron, and then asked Hermione how she had got on. 

Before she could answer, Ron proceeded to take the piss out of her for being perfect, and how Wilkie Twycross had been raving about her amazing abilities in the Three Broomsticks when they all went for quick drink afterwards. 

Hermione wanted to slap him for being so juvenile, although he was correct about one thing. Twycross had been so distracted not just by her, and his large bottle of Butterbeer, but by the sheer number of students Apparating and Disapparating all over Hogsmeade, that he had not noticed Hermione slipping into the village post office to send an owl - an owl that would be received with the morning post delivery at breakfast the following day. 

-xxx-

Severus glared out upon the main hall, hundreds of dunderhead students shovelling breakfast into their wide, vapid mouths, talking ten to the dozen whilst spraying food everywhere. His own place setting was neat, with his cutlery in the appropriate places and his plate of eggs, bacon and toast arranged in an orderly fashion. His coffee was black and freshly-brewed, and already on a second refill, the caffeine needed to fuel the day ahead. 

He merely glanced up when the flurry of post owls arrived, some depositing letters and parcels along the length of the student benches, whilst others headed for the top table to deliver newspaper, periodicals, orders and other letters to the teachers.   
Amongst his usual post of the Daily Prophet and an invoice for potion ingredients (the supplier had still not cottoned on to the fact that Horace Slughorn was now the Hogwarts Potions master) there was a small post owl that dropped a sealed envelope in his lap. A unexpected, hand-addressed letter? 

Pulling it open, he recognised her neat, looping handwriting instantly. 

“Severus

I’m in Hogsmeade! 

We are here doing our Apparition practice for the test, and guess what, I’ve just managed to Apparate into the Post Office without anyone seeing me.” 

He let out an involuntary noise half-way between a chuckle and snort, causing Flitwick to glance up at him in surprise. He composed himself, quickly. 

“I didn’t want to send this from the school owlery, as the birds might think it’s a bit strange to send post to somewhere you already are?”

He bit back another smirk. She really was quite funny, by letter. 

“So, you’ll get this at breakfast tomorrow, and I just wanted to say, Harry told me this morning that he’s got a private lesson with Dumbledore tomorrow evening, by which means, this evening.   
He’ll be going to the headmaster’s office at 8pm. 

I’d really like to see the chamber that you told me about? 

Please, please say yes. 

Hermione xx”

Severus folded the letter and placed it carefully into the breast pocket of his robes, wanting to grin inanely across the room at Granger, seated at the Gryffindor table, but if they had a hope in hell of keeping this assignation secret, he must not be seen to react.

Now, how to reply?

-xxx-

After dinner, Hermione returned to Gryffindor Tower to take a quick shower and clean her teeth, before changing her underwear and applying a quick spritz of perfume. She dared not change out of her uniform or apply any make-up, since it was just a normal Wednesday evening in the castle. 

She headed for the library as the letter had instructed, using the pass it had contained to access the restricted section, which was empty of other students, and she closed the gated entrance behind her with a small, metallic clang. Once there, she seated herself at the little table right at the rear of the room that had a tiny green lamp burning merrily, and studied the letter one final time, just to ensure she had everything correct. 

DADA had been Hermione’s last lesson of the day, and she had not received a response from Severus to the letter she’d sent him from Hogsmeade. She knew he’d received it, as she’d covertly watched him opening it at breakfast. As it turned out, she had no reason to worry. 

As Snape sent their marked Dementor essays flying across the room back to them in his usual arrogant manner, he issued an instruction that the scrolls were not to be opened in the classroom. 

“This essay was on a very important subject,” he announced. “I wish you to take your essays somewhere quiet, open them, and then read and digest my comments on your individual efforts fully, rather than simply passing your grades around like a puerile group of first-years.”

Hermione tucked her rolled of parchment safely into her bag, and headed straight to her dormitory to read it, knowing that Lavender and Parvati would not bother to return there before dinner, and she would have the privacy to read the reply that she hoped desperately was there. 

She was not disappointed. 

Rolled up in her essay, which had received an O, to her great delight, and his teacher’s comment had praised her thoughtful and insightful work, was a letter – no wonder he had instructed the students not to open the essays in class. 

Clever, Severus, clever. 

She opened it eagerly, sprawled flat on her bed to read. 

“Hermione,

I found your owl most amusing. 

If you are serious about wanting to see the chamber, having heeded all my warnings, then this is how you are to proceed. 

Use this pass to access the restricted section in the library. Ensure that you are not overlooked or disturbed. 

At the rear of the restricted section you will find a small table with a green lamp. Around this area you will find a book entitled ‘The Unknown Within’. Open this book and give it the password, on this occasion it is ‘frozen aconite’. Be warned, the password is set to change upon every use. I will explain why, once we are there. 

Once you have given the book the password, your path will become clear. Bring the book with you, do not replace it upon the shelf. 

Come and find me at eight o’clock. SS”

She sat at the table, looking around for ‘The Unknown Within’, hoping it would be obvious, but as with everything at Hogwarts, nothing was simple. She stood up and started scouring the shelves properly, running her fingers along the spines of the books, some of which yelped crossly as she touched them, causing Madam Pince to peer suspiciously through the grille that enclosed the restricted section. 

“Are you going to be in there long, Miss Granger?”

Hermione stuck her head around the bookshelves, which were hiding her from view. 

“I don’t know, Madam Pince, I have a great deal of research to do, I’m afraid.”

“Hmmm. Very well. Please try and keep the books quiet, others are trying to study in here.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try. I never know which ones are going to make a noise.”

The old librarian narrowed her eyes and gave her one last suspicious look before turning around and returning to her desk, and Hermione applied herself to to her task, finally locating ‘The Unknown Within’ four books from the end on the second-to-bottom shelf. 

It was a most non-descript little textbook, clearly a Divination tome, and she opened it to the centre, whispering “frozen aconite” into its pages, feeling more than a bit silly. 

Almost immediately, the back wall appeared to shiver, and to her surprise, Hermione saw an ornate doorknob materialise into view, embossed with a shining silver serpent crest – Slytherin’s crest. 

Ah. The path certainly had been made clear. 

Keeping a tight hold of the book, as she’d been instructed, Hermione reached out and turned the doorknob, and the door into the wall opened easily. She stepped inside, and it was dark, very dark. Casting Lumos, which gave her a small beam of light that showed her a narrow stone corridor, with steps at the end heading upwards. 

Hermione gathered her Gryffindor nerve and continued, trying to ignore the feeling that she was doing something incredibly stupid, heading down an unknown passageway on her own, with no one knowing where she was, her wand held in front of her to light her way. 

The door snapped shut behind her, closing off any light there had been from the small lamp in the restricted section. Okay, now she was scared. And where was Severus?

Reaching the end of the passageway and the first step, she headed upwards, running her hands along the jagged stone walls to steady herself before stopping short in fear, her heart pounding. She had not imagined it. 

In the silence, the only noise that could be heard was the rasp of her own heavy breaths, and the unmistakeable hiss of a snake.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do not need anything that cupboard contains to enhance my sexual pleasure with you, Hermione,” he whispered low, before turning her around to face him, and the look of longing in his volcanic black eyes made her stomach flip fully over. “I desire only you, and nothing but you.”

Chapter 23

No sooner had the snake hissed for a second time, then a door at the top of the stairs was flung open, filling the passageway with light. Severus stood there, holding out his hand for her to take. Hermione gratefully hopped up the last few steps and saw that on the door was an ornamental, but very realistic, snake coiling itself around in the carved grooves of the Slytherin crest that decorated the ornate door. It was also still making that horribly sinister hissing noise that had stopped her heart for a few seconds there.

“Are you quite alright?” he asked her, concerned. 

“The hissing scared me. The passage was almost pitch-black and then I panicked that a bloody snake was going to jump out on me. I suppose after being petrified by an enormous murderous basilisk in my second year I’m always a tad jumpy around serpents now,” she grimaced. 

“My apologies. I did warn you that this room does have certain … dark drawbacks. The hiss of the snake is to alert the Head of Slytherin house present within the room that his … guest has entered the passageway, and that the door from the restricted section has closed behind her … or him.”

“Or him?”

“Slytherin has had both male and female Heads of House, over the centuries.”

“Ah, okay. So, can I come in?”

“Certainly.”

Severus pushed open the door, carefully standing between her and the moving snake, and gestured her in with an elaborate flourish of his hand. Taking a good look at him as she passed through, Hermione could not help noting that he was casually dressed in a white shirt rolled up to his elbows, untucked and with only a few of the buttons fastened in the centre of the placket. She could see both his sparse chest hair and a peek of pectoral muscle at the top, and the denser hair at the top of his trousers. He wore his usual black tailored ones, but with no belt, and his feet were bare. His long hair was pulled back and low at the back of his neck, and she thought how nice it was to see all his face, without his aquiline features being hidden behind a lank, raven curtain. 

As she stepped into the room, he plucked the textbook from her grasp and placed it on a small shelf by the door that had clearly been placed there just for that purpose. How old was that book? Hermione couldn’t help but look around agog at this very secret room hidden away in the depths of the castle she thought she knew so well. 

The chamber was small, but not tiny, and in the shape of a perfect semi-circle, with a huge bed dominating the flat wall, next to the door she had just entered through. She had never seen anything like it before. It was not a four-poster, as all the other beds in Hogwarts appeared to be, but a huge mattress with nothing above it, raised high from the floor by three deep stone steps that went all around it in a circle, meaning one could step up to the bed from any part of the room. 

The bed was dressed in sumptuous silver and green silks, satins and brocades, all of which were artfully draped across the raised mattress and in places slithered down the grey flagstone steps like icing sugar melting from a particularly delicious cake. There were many, many pillows and cushions, and she had the urge to jump right into the middle of it to see how soft it felt. 

Around the circular side of the room, opposite the flat wall, there were two large wingback armchairs made from dark green leather, the Slytherin-green theme unsurprisingly featuring strongly in the interior décor. Along from the chairs, there was a small door that was slightly ajar, through which she could see a bathroom, and the rest of the curved wall space was filled with portraits in ornate frames of witches and wizards clad in varying shades of green, grey and black, former Heads of House that’d had use of this room, she supposed. 

At the window on the other side of the room there was a small table upon which stood a huge fruit bowl, laden with what appeared to be an amazing selection of the freshest fruit.   
Nothing like a none-too-subtle metaphor.

Hermione walked over to the table, knowing exactly what she was looking for, and plucked out a particularly succulent-looking red apple, before returning to stand in front of Severus, nonchalantly holding it up with a raise of her eyebrow. 

“Don’t you remember what happened the last time a wicked snake persuaded an innocent woman to take a bite from an apple?”

Severus felt his cock lurch within the confines of his trousers. 

Fuck yes, she knew what this room was all about. She got it. 

“You, Hermione,” he replied slowly, fixing her with his black eyes and taking some time to roll his answer around his honeyed tongue, “may take a bite from whatever you desire.”

She lifted the apple to her mouth and took a large, slow bite, not losing eye contact with him as she crunched down on the hard, red fruit. To see his jaw slacken and drop was all the response she needed. She finished the bite she had taken, and set the rest of the apple down on the arm of one of the chairs, stepping forward to allow him to wrap her body in his embrace. 

For a while, no words passed between them as they reconnected, the physical side of their relationship so neglected over the last nearly three months. Severus devoured her mouth, tasting the tartness of the apple on her tongue. He knew at some point, that Hermione would start asking questions, but for once he relished them. She did not seem to be cowed or afraid by their location, although once she knew more there was still time for her to run screaming. But he didn’t think she would. He knew this little lion. 

She was inherently, foolishly brave. He paused from kissing her, enveloping her completely in his arms. 

“So,” he heard her say from down near his chest, and he smirked to himself. 

Here she goes. 

“Tell me about this room.”

He released his hold on her a little and turned her outwards in his arms to face the chamber, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling himself tight in behind her.

“You wish to hear lascivious tales of the debauched behaviour of the Heads of Slytherin House?” he rumbled, ensuring she could feel the beginnings of his erection against her back. 

She took a deep breath. 

“Yes. I’m here now. Why not? Tell me everything.”

“Very well. You see the large portrait on the wall, the wizard in green with the dark hair and beard? That is Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of Hogwarts, as no doubt you know.”

“Obviously,” she huffed. 

“Obviously. So. As you know from your own experience regarding the Chamber of Secrets, Salazar was not above creating his own personal hideaways and secreting them in parts of the school that were inaccessible to the other founders. This is the bedchamber that he used for … private carnal pleasures and sexual assignations.”

“His sex room?”

“In its crudest terms, Miss Granger. A professor, locked away from the rest of the adult world for ten months of the year, has his or her own sexual needs and desires that require fulfilling just the same as the rest of the populace. This chamber was created to inspire sensual pleasure, to provide a room for physical release, and most importantly, absolutely guaranteed privacy.”

“It certainly does inspire sensual pleasure, I’ll give Salazar Slytherin that. This room is … just breathtaking.”

“And you have not seen it all yet.”

“I haven’t?”

“You have not. Can I ask you to join me on the bed?”

He moved her towards the stone steps that encircled the bed, but she stopped when they got there, pulling off her socks and shoes and leaving them by the bottom step. 

“I cannot get that beautiful bed dirty.”

Severus privately thought that was exactly what they would be doing, but wisely kept his thoughts to himself until she had been given the full picture of what she was getting herself into. Besides, the removal of her footwear meant four less items for him to remove. The thrum of his burgeoning erection kept up its insistent beat, hidden away in his underwear. 

Again, for now. 

They clambered up the high, wide steps and arranged themselves on the blissfully comfortable bed, heads flat on the pillows, looking upwards. Severus pointed his wand overhead. 

“The design of the ceiling in this room is a smaller version of the bewitchment upon the ceiling in the Great Hall. What do you desire?”

Hermione thought for a moment before answering. 

“A clear night sky please, only a few stars, and a huge visible moon, about halfway through its waxing phase.”

“As you wish.”

The chamber darkened as the night sky fell across the room, lit by a few twinkling stars and the blue-yellow glow of a thick, unbroken beam of moonlight. He liked her choice. It was subtle, sophisticated. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and watched her eyes as they sped rapidly over his conjured ceiling. 

“That is so beautiful, Severus. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Her face was luminous in the moonlight, and he could not help but roll to his side and put an arm over her, move closer and lean in to steal a kiss. She returned it eagerly, opening her mouth and licking his lips with the tip of her tongue to encourage him to do the same. 

He groaned in pleasure, the months of not being able to kiss her properly melting away as he cupped her face with his pale hand, threading his fingers around the back of head and holding her to him whilst he plundered the very depths of her mouth with his searching tongue. 

She lifted her leg and slung it over his hip, crooking her bare foot to press his hips against hers, and he wasted no time in slipping a hand up her skirt and grasping a tight hold on her thigh, pushing his groin against her covered mound. 

“Starting without us, Severus? How very unkind.”

A woman’s voice rang out from across the room, and Hermione sat bolt upright in shock, pulling her leg from over his and adjusting her skirt so that it covered her thighs, looking around for the source of the interruption. 

Severus sat up slowly, seeing the portraits begin to fill with their owners, either arrived from other portraits elsewhere in the castle, or moving across to a neighbouring frame to settle down with a friend. He was going to have to explain this exceptionally carefully. 

He cleared his throat. 

“Hermione, may I present Vida McKinley, former Head of Slytherin house, as are all the people you see before you in the portraits.”

“Severus, not only have you finally brought a girl to this chamber, but you brought us a little Gryffindor?” she noted, looking at Hermione’s red and gold tie. “Oh, this will be fun!”

The attractive, white-haired witch in the portrait clapped her hands in delight, and Hermione took an instant dislike to her. She turned to face him, full of questions, but no idea which one to ask first. 

“Let us go and sit in the chairs, Hermione. I want and need to explain to you exactly how this room works. Only then can you make an informed decision regarding whether you wish to stay here.”

-xxx-

“So, they like to watch?” she asked him, once she had settled in the armchair, gesturing at the curved wall of portraits. 

Severus lit a table lamp on the small table between the chairs, vanished her bitten apple from the arm of the wingback chair and sat opposite her, resting his elbows and steepling his fingers under his chin, his expression serious. 

“It is true they are voyeurs. But in addition, they are far more than that. They are the magical link between Slytherin past and present. Their contribution is more than just … looking.”

“How do you mean?”

“As I previously explained, the life of a live-in professor is a lonely and frustrating one. Every witch or wizard imbued in those portraits understands this, for all of them have been in the same position, whether recently, or centuries ago – human desire for sexual fulfilment is the same. They enjoy the triumphs of the room’s current incumbent, and by that, I mean they do indeed relish the chance to watch sexual contact, but they also support and … assist the current Head of House when there is no partner involved.”

“You mean …?”

“Indeed.”

He fixed her with his severe, dark stare. 

“Oh yes, little lion, our Severus will buff his impressive piece of furniture to a lovely shine here, for us!”

It was Vida McKinley, crowing again.

“Like many before me, I come here when solo masturbation in my room is insufficient to fulfil me,” he told her, bluntly. “The addition of an audience, uttering their own brand of filthy verbal support, can provide a sensual pleasure that heightens what I can achieve on my own.”

“Oh.”

“I am a grown wizard, and I have needs, as I am sure you have become aware,” he replied, unembarrassed. 

“I understand that, really I do, Severus. It just makes me feel … well, a little sad I suppose. Thinking of you alone for so long.”

Whatever reaction he had been expecting from her, it certainly had not been that. 

He’d anticipated disgust, most likely, possibly judgement and maybe a hint of annoyance, but certainly not sadness. She really was the most curious young witch of his acquaintance. 

Hermione nodded, as if collating all the information she had been given in her formidable brain, and he’d been inside it, he knew how neatly everything was stored in there, carefully labelled and categorised for future use. 

“And the secret passageway? Presumably you do not enter the room that way? I cannot imagine you sneaking past Madam Pince into the restricted section every time you need a wank?”

He barked out a laugh at her coarse turn of phrase. 

“Indeed, I do not. The magic involved in creating this room means that the official Slytherin Head of House can access it by casting a particular incantation from their own private chambers only. It will only transport a single person. Therefore any … guests, need to enter via the passageway.”

“These guests, I am presuming, are all students?”

“Or occasionally staff,” he added, “if a Head had the good fortune to have a fellow professor whom they found attractive.”

“But mostly students?”

“From what I am led to believe by my predecessors in the portraits, yes. You are not the first Hogwarts student to be seduced by a wicked professor, and I am quite certain you will not be the last.”

He quirked his eyebrows in a suggestive manner that she found rather arousing. 

“You hardly seduced me, Severus. Although looking at some of those faces on the wall up there, I can quite believe some of them did.”

Salazar Slytherin did not look the least bit ashamed at her words, in fact, his expression could easily be described as self-satisfied. From his portrait, she could see that he was a darkly attractive wizard, therefore it didn’t take a huge leap of imagination to see how he had charmed unwary young witches into his bed with his silvery snake tongue. 

Looking at the other portraits, noting their nods of agreement and nonchalant, unconcerned faces, suggested that her assessment was correct. She suddenly noticed two portraits that were not animated, one of Severus himself, and another of Professor Slughorn, both motionless in their frames, just as a Muggle painting would be. 

“Oh! Are your portraits different because …?”

“Because myself and Horace Slughorn are not yet dead, Granger. When a person is made Head of Slytherin, their portrait is added to this chamber, but remember, a portrait only animates after the death of the subject. Slughorn was Head of House during my years at school, and for many years before and after that.”

“And don’t we remember!” cried a shrill voice from the wall.

Hermione and Severus both looked for the source of the voice. 

“My goodness, the buggery!” shrieked Phineas Nigellus Black. “The amount of grease that Slughorn used to get through each session, it would take The Pleasure Cupboard a month to restock itself!”

Hermione could not help her mouth twisting into an amused smirk, and she noticed that Severus was doing the same, although with slightly more knowing. 

“The Pleasure Cupboard?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He pointed his wand towards an empty section of the wall, and it began to open, the secret door sliding across to reveal shelves stacked with … wait, what were they stacked with? She stood up and walked over to the cupboard, and her eyes widened in her discovery. 

The Pleasure Cupboard was indeed just that, containing all possible accoutrements to any sexual encounter you could think of, and most likely plenty more that you couldn’t.

There were paddles of all sizes, whips and floggers, raunchy-looking costumes, gags, and huge coils of ropes that actually resembled real snakes, alongside baskets of delicious-smelling oils and bottles of slippery lubricants. There were vials of contraceptive potion, boxes of chocolates, stacks of erotic literature and piles of wizarding porn that certainly made for some interesting moving photographs. She tilted her head sideways to look better at them. 

Severus silently moved in behind her, closing the door with a simple wave of his hand. He took hold of her shoulders, leaning forwards. 

“I do not need anything that cupboard contains to enhance my sexual pleasure with you, Hermione,” he whispered low, before turning her around to face him, and the look of longing in his volcanic black eyes made her stomach flip fully over. “I desire only you, and nothing but you.”

She took a deep breath. She could do this. In fact, she wanted to do this, if the compelling thrum in her knickers was any indictor of her true desires. She wanted Severus, and she was surprisingly aroused at the thought of the sensual pleasure she could have with him in this magical room, however contrived the experience. 

Unknotting her tie, she let it hang free, awaiting his further action. He raised an eyebrow, and she gave him a single nod of confirmation, earning her a salacious smile. Severus took hold of the end of the Gryffindor tie and pulled it slowly, making it slither through the collar of her shirt before he removed it fully, dropping it on to the seat of the armchair without a sound. 

He reached forward and took hold of the hem of her school jumper, lifting it smoothly over her arms and head in one movement, and this too joined the tie. She untucked her white shirt from the waistband of her skirt, and unfastened the top two buttons. 

“Persuaded you then, has he?” came the voice from the wall that was really beginning to piss her right off. 

They both turned. 

“Yes, he has actually,” she replied, tersely. 

“Wonderful,” Vida trilled, arranging herself comfortably in her painted chair. “It has been far too long since I have ogled that magnificent girth of yours, Snape!”

Hermione walked over to stand directly in front of the portrait, and Severus followed her. He knew that Vida had provoked her ire, and he wanted to see how she’d respond. Call it a vested interest. 

“What a shame you’re just a long-dead painting, Vida, and can’t actually touch it. I’ll enjoy having that pleasure all to myself, having Severus inside me, feeling every inch of him while he fucks me, whilst you sit there in your dusty frame, with nothing but your own hand to relieve you.”

The portrait representation of Vida McKinley looked thunderstruck, and was not able to utter a word before she rose to her feet and stalked out of her frame, no doubt going to seek solace in one of her other portraits that hung elsewhere. There was a low chuckle, and Severus looked across to see Salazar Slytherin looking highly amused. 

“Merlin save us from self-righteous fucking Gryffindors, Severus,” he barked, shaking his head. “This one is a warrior and no mistake. I find myself rather glad that you brought her here.”

“At the very least, she is better than the plethora of young men that Slughorn used to parade through here,” sniffed Phineas. “I wasn’t sure how much more group sodomy I could take.”

Hermione was struck with an unpleasant thought.

“Professor Slughorn, he doesn’t still … use this room too, does he?”

“He does not,” Severus smirked. “He gave up that privilege when he retired, and the Head of House role passed to me. He can no longer access this room, although he of course is aware of its continued existence.”

“Thank fuck for that,” muttered Phineas, “I doubt that Horace Slughorn can even see over his stomach anymore, let alone find his cock.”

“Thank you for that delightful mental image, Black,” Severus replied, witheringly. 

“If we are going to do this, they need to be … less obtrusive,” Hermione whispered, pulling Severus closer so she could speak low in his ear. 

One side of his mouth crooked into a lop-sided smile, a smile that invited, that tempted. 

“Pipe down, all of you. I have a little witch here who is long overdue for my attentions.”

As the portraits settled down, he doused the small table lamp so that the room was once again lit only by the beam of the moon in the conjured ceiling, before turning back to his luscious little witch and capturing her mouth, using his lips to drag along hers, tempting and luring her in to him. She tried to nip at his bottom lip and he growled, allowing her to bite it briefly before locking down upon her, pushing his tongue into her mouth and coiling it around hers like the snake on the door, enjoying the small, stifled sounds of pleasure she was making. 

The sound of chairs scraping against wood could be heard as the occupants of the portraits seated themselves, but Hermione was wrapped so deeply in Severus’ embrace that she barely gave it a second thought. 

His hands had slipped up between them and were undoing the remaining buttons of her shirt, inserting his hand under the open material and palming a bra-covered breast fully, holding it as if assessing its weight and size. He began to stroke his thumb firmly over her nipple, and she drew back from him in order to see the desire burning coal-black in his eyes. 

Keeping hold of her breast, he backed her to the bottom step of the bed, and urged her to stand on it, equalling out their height difference. He cupped her face in both hands, just gazing upon it for a few seconds, quite unbelieving that even for a short time, she was his again. He dropped the softest kiss upon her lips, whilst pulling her unbuttoned shirt from her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor. Her breasts in their white lace brassiere were served up in front of him like a most delightful entrée, and he ran a finger down each one, grazing her nipples and making her shiver. 

To give her confidence, he tugged his own shirt over his head, not bothering to undo the final few buttons. His pale skin, roughly scarred in various places, shone in the moonlight. She placed her hands on his chest, running them across his lean muscles, around his shoulders, down his upper arms, caressing him. Her touch gave him the most delicious gooseflesh as a pleasured shudder ran through his body. He had missed it so very much. 

Severus reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, sliding the straps slowly down her arms until her tits spilled into the eager and safe reception of his waiting hands. 

“Unghhh,” he groaned, unable to stop himself leaning forwards as soon as her breasts were bared and taking one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the pink nipple, suckling upon it deeply. 

As he did so, he fumbled at her waist to unfasten her skirt, he wanted all traces of school uniform gone, as soon as possible. It loosened, and he allowed it to slip down her legs, chancing that she was aroused enough for him to pull her knickers down also, and it seemed that she was, for she kicked both garments away whilst transferring his head to her other breast. 

After he had given that nipple his full attention, he drew back, his mouth glistening with his own saliva that had become spread around during his mauling of her ripe, firm tits. 

“On the bed,” he instructed her, darkly. 

As she climbed the steps and settled herself in the centre of the huge, sensualist heaven of the lavishly-dressed bed, Severus faced the portraits head on, smirking at the former Heads of Slytherin that he knew so well. He unfastened his trousers, pushing them to the floor. He wore no undershorts, having already supposed (and hoped) they would have been surplus to the requirements of his intentions for that evening. He dropped his hand to his cock, already hardening, and gave it a few firm strokes, glaring at them all, just daring them to make a sound, before raising an imperious but amused eyebrow at the portraits and joining Hermione on the top of the bed. 

He sat almost upright against the cushion of a pile of pillows that were arranged around the head of the bed. He pulled Hermione to sit between his legs with her back to him, and he laid her down against his chest, kissing her cheek and stroking softly down her shoulders and chest, grazing over her breasts, before reaching between her legs and starting to push her thighs apart. She gasped. 

“I believe, Miss Granger, that I advised you I would be addressing your lack of orgasms with immediate effect,” he drawled against her ear, the words vibrating on the outer shell and heading straight to her dampening pussy that he was currently opening to the full view of the gathered Slytherin Heads. 

“Relax,” he hissed. “Allow me to touch you. Let me make you come, just how you like it.”

Hermione was not able to resist the hypnotic, low timbre of his request, and settled her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and just feeling. Listening … and feeling. 

As Severus felt her body relax against him, he knew he had her. 

Fucking hell. 

All the years he had been masturbating himself into a frustrated frenzy in this room, and now he was here with a woman. And not just any woman – a young and stunningly beautiful one, the brightest witch of her age, in fact. An girl of immense intelligence and bravery was between his legs and allowing him to expose her fully naked body before a bunch of long-dead voyeurs. He’d never have believed it. 

“Open your legs,” he whispered, and she let her knees fall to the sides, resting upon his own bare thighs. 

He heard a sharp intake of breath from the wall. 

“Further, Severus,” hissed a voice, unmistakeably Salazar. “Open her further, so we can all see this girl who has captured one of our own.”

Severus placed both his hands upon her juicy cunt, tracing small circles upon the soft skin of her outer labia, before using all his fingers to splay her apart, opening up all her most secret places to full view of the wonderful perverts on the wall. He felt her lips twitch in the cool air, beneath his fingertips. 

“Nice,” he heard.

“Bloody Merlin,” said another.

“Toy with her, Severus,” instructed Salazar.

Severus, however, did not need the instruction. Holding her inner labia open with one hand, he dipped a long finger inside her, gently thrusting a few times before scooping out some of her arousal fluid that he’d found within, and began to spread it around her clitoris, rolling the sensitive bud around like a pearl in oil. 

“Oh!” 

Her hips bucked up instantly at his touch, and he was not surprised, for it had been so long since he’d last touched her, so long since her last completion. 

“Eager to come, little witch?” he teased, tickling all around her clit in circles, feeling her flesh throb deliciously underneath his fingertip.

“Fuck,” she panted. “Fucking hell. Shit. Oh … oh.”

“You are most eloquent this evening, Granger” he drawled, not letting his fingers halt their movements for a single second. 

“I don’t … I don’t …”

Whatever it was that she didn’t, Severus never found out. He had begun to relentlessly circle her clit in the same repetitive, devastating rhythm, increasing the speed until he was frantically frigging against it.

“Come now,” he commanded. “Come in my hand, girl, let me have it.”

With a flurry of high-pitched pants, she climaxed, rotating her hips and gasping in release. 

“Oh, oh, ohhh. Oh fuck, yes.”

He looked up to the wall for approval as his little peach released her first orgasm into his palm. Several of the wizards were already wanking beneath their cloaks, and Vida had returned, her pique and pride seemingly less important than her desire to get herself off, since she was languorously masturbating with one leg hooked around the side of her ornate chair.

“Again, Severus,” growled Salazar, “again, straight away.”

Hermione squeaked as Severus returned his fingers to her folds, opening her wide again, and brushing against her clitoris, preparing it for a second assault. 

“No, it’s too sensitive, don’t!” she squealed, attempting to twist her hips away from his provoking touch. 

“Ignore her protests, Severus. The young witch will spend again if you continue, and with greater vigour than the first time, I promise you that,” Salazar assured. 

Severus extracted his legs from under hers and placed his strong thighs on top of her splayed legs, fixing her in place, her wet cunt wide open and helpless to his invasion. 

“I would like another orgasm from you, Hermione.”

“No, really I can’t, please …”

“You can, and you will.”

His decision was very final. Hermione could not free her legs from under his lean, muscled thighs, and she quickly gave up trying, leaning back against his chest and allowing him to spread her labia fully open again and twiddle her clitoris without further obstruction, which was hard, over-aroused and still swollen from her previous climax. 

He chased the sensitive nub around when it pulsed away from him, capturing it every time and twisting it back and forth between his thumb and index finger, enjoying the tortured but pleasured sounds she was making, almost becoming screams.   
Her hips began to shake with the pressure and pleasure. 

“Severus, please, I will wet myself if you carry on,” she begged, pushing back against his chest, writhing against him. 

“Let her piss herself,” came Salazar’s voice from the portrait wall. “It is no matter if she does, for you both have a wand to deal with the mess.”

Indeed. 

Still ruthlessly masturbating her engorged clit, Severus used a finger from the hand that was keeping her splayed open to gently tickle her urethral opening, irritating the tiny hole just enough for him to feel a dribble of urine spill forth. 

Now she really was screaming. 

On the edge of her second orgasm and her innocent little body utterly confused between the desire to peak and the desire to piss, she pressed her upper body hard against his chest, pushing back, growing rigid. 

“Let go, Hermione”, he growled, with as much authority as he could manage considering how fucking aroused he was. His cock was rock hard and ready to burst against the cleft of her arse. 

He pulled at her clit like he was wanking a tiny cock, tapping the tip of the erect bud at the same time, and flickering his finger around her urethral opening, tickling and teasing her towards both her releases.

“Let everything go,” he repeated, more forcefully. 

She let go. 

There was nothing else Hermione could do. Streams of hot urine flowed from her and soaked his fingers and the bed beneath her as she screamed in orgasm, her clitoris pulsing and even more wetness spurting from her vagina. 

“Show us, Severus,” came an urgent hiss from the wall, and he looked up to see them all, even Salazar, furiously masturbating at their exploits. 

He let go of her clitoris and dappled his fingers in the slippery mess of her cunt, taking hold of her labia and spreading her wide apart so that his voyeuristic audience could see the fluids dripping from her, and examine the wide gape of her vagina, contracting hard and pulsing with aftershocks.

“Look what I have,” he growled, a smirk on his sweating face, and planted a kiss to the side of Hermione’s equally sweaty cheek. 

“You want to touch her, don’t you?” he tormented the portraits, running a finger up the middle of her splayed pussy, making her jump as he touched her over-sensitive genitals, before letting her close her legs and sucking his finger into his mouth.

“And taste her? I can tell you, my friends, she tastes sublime. Every fucking inch of her.”

“Fuck her,” came one, urgent voice.

“Fuck her, Severus,” gasped another, sounding close to climax themselves. 

“Oh, I intend to. Right now. It has been too long since I was inside this witch.”

He wandlessly cast a Tergeo upon the bed, instantly removing all traces of Hermione’s … emissions, from whichever hole they had come from, not that he had any care or disgust whatsoever. He’d never thought himself to be into watersports, but her explosive second orgasm had been like nothing on earth, so he was rapidly rethinking that particular opinion. 

They moved from their sprawled position against the pillows, kissing every inch of the way, and he positioned them so they were across the bed, sideways on to the portraits, so as not to deny the voyeurism society the best view. And for his own ego too, of course. He was the proudest fucking cock in the hen-house right at this moment. Finally, he could prove to his predecessors that he was not a sexually-inept virgin. 

Hermione lay back as Severus loomed over her, his penis lined up at her entrance, his raven head framed by the bewitched ceiling of the night sky, that she herself had requested, and his endless eyes as dark as the night above him. 

“I have missed you, Severus,” she told him, reaching up and tucking aside a long lock of hair that had fallen from his band. 

“I see you every day. Therefore, my eyes have their adequate fill,” he replied. “But my body … it has been left wanting. Allow me to remedy that.”

“Now, please.”

Severus did not need telling twice. With a shout of relief, he pushed himself deep inside her, his dick immediately grasped tight in the hot sheath of her cunt, touching every inch of his neglected flesh. There were a few groans from the wall, and he suspected that some of the Heads had climaxed at the sight of his first thrust. He couldn’t blame them. It had been an awfully long while since any heterosexual intercourse had taken place in this chamber. 

He began to slide in and out of this outstanding girl, taking his time, resting on his forearms so that he was close enough to kiss her as he fucked her. 

“Did I ever tell you,” he breathed, his sentences short and clipped due to the effort he was putting in further down, “how extraordinarily … fucking good … it is … to fuck you, Miss Granger?”

“I believe you may have mentioned it,” she smiled, rotating her own hips to meet his thrusts. 

“I dream of being inside you, Hermione. Every night” 

He gave a particularly hard thrust, making her gasp and throw her head back, and from the moans he could hear, that had finished off a few more of the portraits. 

Speeding up his movements, Severus pushed himself up so that his palms were on the bed either side of her face. He loosened his hips and started a grinding rotation, that he began to pump in to her like an express train as it approached full speed. 

Hermione could not escape the rub of his pubic bone against her clitoris as he made love to her. Her dark professor was thrusting deep and fast inside her, approaching climax with his face flushed and his breathing ragged. The incessant rubbing pushed her over the edge of orgasm for the third time, her clit so over-stimulated that it hadn’t taken much for her to come again, around the invasion of his cock, this time. 

Severus couldn’t believe Hermione was coming again. He felt her cunt tighten and release rhythmically against his cock, and it broke him. 

His own, fucking dirty, sexually deviant, secretly-dark little witch had allowed him to take her apart from the inside out in front of the entire alumni of Slytherin Heads of House, who had now all certainly reached their orgasms from his, no their, stellar performance. It was just too fucking much. 

Severus came, shooting lust and amazement from the end of his dick and deep inside her, shaking with the enormity of the occasion and the sexual ecstasy they had built up between them. Fucking, bloody hell. And Merlin’s balls. And all those other far more articulate swear words that escaped him right now. 

That had, quite literally, been the fuck of his life. 

Rolling from her and lying flat on his back by her side, trying to force some fresh air into his lungs, he reached for her hand and she took it. The hour was no doubt running late, with the time they had spent talking, and her prefect’s curfew would surely not be far away. There was no possible way that he would allow the two of them to get caught by the headmaster. He wasn’t sure how long Potter’s private lessons were, but they were unlikely to last beyond curfew. 

He had to get Hermione back to her dormitory, and he would. 

In five fucking minutes. 

Just five more minutes in this sanctuary of unreality.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You do not need to understand. Just know this, Hermione ... we are about to enter uncertain times. You will not know with whom you can place your trust. What you need to remember, and this is very important, is that despite appearances, there is a hope that is waiting for you in the dark. Do not forget that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few lines of speech have been quoted directly from HBP in this chapter, no doubt you’ll recognise them and see why they were necessary. Just so y’all know I’m not claiming them as my own … Pouf x

Chapter 24

Once he had reluctantly reclothed them with a wave of his wand, their discarded garments flying back to them from the various places around the chamber where they had been strewn, Severus escorted Hermione back down the dark, narrow passageway until they reached the door that led back to the restricted section. 

“Ensure you replace this exactly where you found it,” he instructed, handing her the copy of ‘The Unknown Within’.

“I will.”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips, still warm and swollen from the past few hours they had spent together. He reached up and twisted a long curl around his finger, trying to make out her face in the dark gloom.

“Hermione, this evening was … exquisite.”

“For me too, Severus,” she replied, smiling warmly. 

One side of his mouth curled up into a brief smile in return. 

“You must go.”

He guided her through the doorway and she allowed it to close behind her, creating an impenetrable barrier between them that made her heart sink. Replacing the book on the shelf and then carefully exiting the restricted section, Hermione was unsure of the exact time and began looking around for Madam Pince and other students. 

She needn’t have worried. As she unlocked the gate that secured the restricted section it was clear that the library was empty and that Madam Pince had left for the evening, leaving a small light burning on her desk to guide Hermione’s way to the exit. She wondered if the librarian had come to check up on her in the restricted section and had found it empty. 

Irma Pince had been a Slytherin, was it possible that the old witch knew about Salazar’s chamber? Whether she did or not, Pince was allowing her to run on an extraordinarily long leash, and Hermione wasn’t sure why. 

Locking the restricted section behind her, she walked over to the main desk to douse the lamp. As she headed towards the door, a loud banging upon it made her jump out of her skin. 

“Hermione, are you in there? Hermione?”

It was Harry. 

She used the key that Madam Pince had given her to unlock the main door and he was standing on the other side of it, looking breathless and as if he had been running. 

“There you are. Just thought I’d come and get you, since you’re less than ten minutes from curfew.”

“Thank you, but surely that means you are well past your own curfew?”

“I’ve just finished my session with Dumbledore, so I have reason to be out, if anyone asks,” he winked. “I went to the common room once we’d finished, but Ginny said you hadn’t come back from the library yet, so I thought I’d come and check you hadn’t fallen asleep on your homework again.”

“I’m grateful,” she grinned, chivvying him out of the door so that she could lock it behind them.

He looked confused, which wasn’t difficult for Harry, but the quizzical look he was giving her made her heart lurch anyway. She had a guilty conscience, for certain. 

“Hermione, why were you in the library in the pitch black?”

“Because I’ve just finished extinguishing all the lamps, idiot,” she replied. “Now move over and let me lock up properly, or Madam Pince will be wanting her key back.”

They walked briskly through the echoing corridors, heading for Gryffindor Tower. Harry was full of everything that had taken place during his long session with the headmaster that evening. 

He told Hermione how he had seen more memories in the Pensieve, one of an old witch called Hepzibah Smith, who’d had a Hufflepuff cup and a Slytherin locket stolen from her, most likely by Tom Riddle, at that time employed at Borgin and Burkes, who had murdered her in order to do so. Riddle had then framed Hepzibah’s house-elf before disappearing, implicating an old creature by the name of Hokey, whom the memory had been extracted from. 

Harry then told her what he had learned about a night years ago that Voldemort had returned to Hogwarts, seeking a teaching post from Dumbledore. She had listened intently to the tale, trying to imagine Voldemort as a young man, but as they reached the portrait hole and he reached the very last part of his story, he mentioned something that really chilled her heart. 

“Dumbledore told me, Hermione, that he believes Tom Riddle wanted the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. He knows this because he has never been able to keep a Defence teacher for longer than a year after he refused Voldemort the position. The post is jinxed – cursed. So, one way or another, I get Snape out of my life before the end of this year.”

Harry grinned, truly happy with the news. 

“Professor Snape, Harry”, she corrected, automatically and with a faltering voice. 

She bid her friend goodnight with a quick hug before heading up the stairs to her dormitory as if she were sleepwalking, ignoring Parvati and Lavender and heading straight for the bathroom. Cleaning her teeth, she looked at herself in the mirror. 

The position was jinxed? Dumbledore had made Severus the Defence professor knowing that he would not last the year. Did he intend for Severus to leave the school, or return to teaching Potions … or worse, did he not expect Snape to survive the school year at all?

Mind churning, Hermione finished washing and climbed into bed, her body and soul aching to be with the wizard she had just left behind in that cramped, gloomy passage, hidden away behind the library wall like a dirty secret.

-xxx-

Weeks later, Severus was billowing down the hallway like an overgrown vampire bat, his face fixed and neutral as it always was, barely noticing the students who leapt out of his way when they saw him approach. 

“Murder! Murder in the bathroom!”

He heard a blood-curdling screech from further down the hallway, accompanied by wails of terrified despair. What the actual fuck?

Speeding up his pace, he followed the sound of the screaming, which led into the boys’ bathroom at the end of the corridor. Shoving open the door so hard that it smashed into the tiled wall behind it, sending shards of broken ceramics clattering to the floor, he then had to blink twice before he could fully comprehend the scene that met his eyes. 

Draco Malfoy was lying in a pool of water, his own blood seeping from multiple wounds on his face and body and dripping into the water, curling into scarlet tendrils around him. Harry Potter was across the bathroom from Malfoy, his wand drawn and his guilty face deathly white with terror. 

“Professor, I didn’t mean to, I swear …”

Severus ignored him, turning his attention to Malfoy.

He knelt in the water, soaking his robes. The boy’s wounds had been caused by Sectumsempra, no doubt about that, he had invented the fucking curse himself. The lacerations were too uniform in their tell-tale pattern to be anything else. 

Severus drew his wand across each of the clean, neat slices, chanting the counter-curse, sealing each one, seeking out the deepest and most urgent and healing those first. He began to sweat, his hair falling lank around his forehead in the wet heat of the bathroom. He continued to cast and incant until every wound had been sealed, and the flow of the crimson rivulets in the mess of water finally ceased. 

He pulled Draco roughly to his feet, pulling the boy’s arm around his neck and supporting him at the waist. The things I do for this ungrateful little shit, he mused. 

Facing Potter, who had not moved a muscle, he bade him to stay exactly where he was until he had seen Draco safely to the hospital wing and into the care of Madam Pomfrey. 

It didn’t take him long to deposit Draco. Once he had sealed the lacerations, the boy was no longer at risk of bleeding to death, so therefore Severus was keen to dump his sorry arse in the infirmary and return to the far more interesting matter of how Harry-fucking-Potter knew about Sectumsempra. 

He re-entered the bathroom to find Potter where he had left him, his school robes dripping with water and blood where he had obviously knelt beside Draco to try and help him after attempting to murder him. How … touching.

Commanding the wailing Myrtle to leave the room and sending her squealing indignantly down a U-bend, he rounded on Potter, who looked more terrified than Severus had ever seen him. No trace of arrogance now, just pure fear. 

“Apparently, I underestimated you, Potter,” he said, smoothly and quietly. “Who would have thought you knew such Dark Magic? Who taught you that spell?”

“I read it … in a library book.”

“You are a liar.” 

Leaning forwards, he fixed his eyes on Potter’s green ones, experiencing a brief stab of pain at being so close to those familiar eyes after all these years, and forced his way into the boy’s mind using Legilimency. 

It was like running a hot knife through butter. Potter had never learned to protect his mind, never understood how to Occlude. His mind, memories, thoughts and feelings were as bare to invasion as they always had been. 

A book swam up in the forefront of Harry’s mind right before his probing eyes. A familiar book. He felt the boy clutch at the book as if to prevent him seeing it, but in fact Potter himself turned the pages so he could see his own handwriting on the pages, his own annotations and corrections, his own spells … 

Somehow the little shit had got his hands on Severus’ very own copy of ‘Advanced Potion Making’, already second-hand from his mother when he’d got it, but turned into a treasure trove of information that he had believed was safely stored in his private library. It must have been left behind in the Potions classroom when Slughorn took over. How fucking careless he had been to not ensure that the classroom cupboards had been completely emptied. For this was the result. 

“Bring me your schoolbag,” he ordered, “and all of your school books. All of them. Bring them to me here. Now.”

The boy turned and ran. Severus looked at the scene around him, broken doors and cracked toilets, water spewing forth from a burst pipe under one of the sinks. Clearly Malfoy and Potter had fought one hell of a duel in here. Sighing deeply at being once again the fool who had to clear up the mess, both physical and metaphorical, he fired his wand at the burst pipe to stem the floor of water, before siphoning up the water and blood from the floor. He would leave the broken toilet and doors to Filch, for the man enjoyed such menial tasks, it gave him some form of purpose in life.

He continued to wait. Potter was taking far too long. He suspected that the boy was concocting an elaborate plan to hide the book, not realising that Severus had already extracted what amounted to a full confession from his own dull mind. The stupid idiot had used the book regularly and not even recognised the distinctive, cramped and spiky handwriting that had marked and commented upon his homework essays for the last six years. 

When the boy finally arrived back in the bathroom to find it dry again, holding out his schoolbag and panting heavily from running, Severus took each one of his books from it in turn, deliberately leaving the Potions textbook until last to prolong Potter’s torment. Finally, it was the only book left. 

“This is your copy of Advanced Potion Making, is it, Potter?” he asked. 

“Yes.”

“You’re quite sure of that are you?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, firmly. 

“Then why,” he asked, raising a withering eyebrow, “does it have the name Roonil Wazlib written inside the front cover?”

Severus enjoyed seeing Potter’s face fall, and watched him squirm as he attempted to come up with all manner of ridiculous explanations. 

Bollocks, he thought, as Harry wittered on, you have my Potions textbook and you’ve been using my superior methods all year. No wonder Slughorn can’t get his tongue out of your arsehole. Potions prodigy, indeed. 

“Do you know what I think, Potter?” Snape whispered, forcing Harry to lean closer to hear him, “I think that you are a liar and a cheat and that you deserve detention with me every Saturday until the end of term.”

It was all over bar the shouting. Potter knew damn well that his secret was out, and despite his pathetic bleating about the Quidditch final and practice sessions, the little bastard was not wriggling out of this one. It was worth giving up his Saturday mornings to see precious Potter, Quidditch star, fall from the sky. 

-xxx-

One evening, almost at the end of term, Hermione and Ron were sitting in the common room when Harry burst in, looking flustered, but exhilarated. He told them he was going with Dumbledore and that the headmaster believed he had found the location of another Horcrux, causing Hermione to gasp in horror and making even Ron fire anxious questions at him. 

Harry insisted that whatever Malfoy had been working on, he had succeeded. He was convinced it was tonight that Draco would strike, with Dumbledore out of the school. He ordered them to use the coins with the Protean charm to summon up as many DA members as possible, to watch Malfoy, to watch Snape, anything. He didn’t agree that the protection that Dumbledore had placed around the school would be adequate, consisting as Hermione, of merely a few members of the Order of the Phoenix. 

Harry thrust a pair of balled-up socks into Ron’s hands, explaining that it was the remainder of the Felix Felicis and they should share it between them, and between whichever members of the DA came to their aid. The fact that Harry felt that their job was more in need of a lucky potion than his own mission with the headmaster, began to convince Hermione that Harry was right, that something may well be about to happen, something sinister and beyond anyone’s control. 

She needed to talk to Severus, not to guard him. Perhaps she could engineer the situation so that she could do both, without arousing suspicion. Hermione couldn’t help a feeling of foreboding deep in her gut. 

She was right. 

As members of the Order of the Phoenix swept into the castle later that evening, from goodness knows where, only Neville and Luna responded to the summons via the charmed DA coins. There was an atmosphere that something was happening, now, and with Dumbledore out of the castle they were unprotected. 

Hermione was outside Snape’s office, the one in the dungeon corridor where he saw students, not his private one at the back of the Defence classroom. However, she had been paired with Luna, and could therefore not knock on the door to consult with him as she would have wished to. Watching Snape’s office was something which she privately felt was a waste of time, since nothing was going on, but Harry had ordered them to watch him. They had to trust him. 

At around midnight, the sky pitch-black and foreboding through the long windows at the end of the hallway, little Professor Flitwick came rushing down the dungeon corridor, a look of fear upon his face and completely ignoring (or not seeing) Hermione and Luna loitering outside. 

Flitwick was shouting to his colleague that ‘Death Eaters were in the castle’, before bursting through the door of Snape’s office without knocking. They heard a loud crash a few seconds later, and Snape came striding out the office alone, instantly seeing the girls. 

He sent Luna into his office, telling her that Flitwick had collapsed and was unconscious, and that she must go and help him, before grabbing Hermione by the elbow and pulling her roughly into an alcove, set back from the main wall. 

“Listen to me, Granger,” he hissed urgently, not letting go of her arm.

His eyes were wild and fearful, his demeanour anxious and restless. He breathed heavily, nostrils flaring with the effort of inhaling oxygen and his hand trembled upon her arm. He appeared to be pent-up with barely-suppressed anticipation, and if she didn’t know better, she would have said he was terrified. 

“I do not have much time. I am about to damn my soul to save that of a child.”

“I don’t understand ...” she started, falteringly.

“You do not need to understand. Just know this, Hermione ... we are about to enter uncertain times. You will not know with whom you can place your trust. What you need to remember, and this is very important, is that despite appearances, there is a hope that is waiting for you in the dark. Do not forget that.”

“I won’t forget, but ...”

Not letting her finish, her pressed his mouth to hers, making her gasp for air as he roughly swiped her mouth with great passion, kissing her as if it was the last time he would ever do so, holding tight to her upper arms to prevent her embracing him. He was making desperate moans as he collected her tongue with his own, rolling them together. His panic and urgency was scaring her. 

At length, he drew back, leaving them both panting. 

“I will not sully your goodness by telling you that I love you,” he bit out, clenching his jaw tightly once he had released the words. 

“Severus, are you …”

Her reply was cut off as he whirled around in the billowing cloud of his black cloak, his last words to her suspended in the air.

-xxx-

“We’ve got a problem, Snape,” Amycus Carrow announced as he entered the top of the Astronomy Tower through the door to the ramparts. 

Members of the Order and some of the students were fighting Death Eaters below, he had just charged through them, and Bill Weasley had shouted that a magical block had been placed at the stairs leading up here. Severus knew that the barricade had been set so that only bearers of the Dark Mark could proceed upwards. 

So, this was to be the place. 

His own Mark allowing him access through the enchanted barrier, Severus had taken the narrow stairs two at a time, slowing just as he reached the top in order that he may enter whatever scene he would find above with dignity, and hopefully just a little time to assess the situation. 

Albus was standing in front of the parapet, looking older, more exhausted and closer to death that Severus had ever seen him. His silver robes were filthy and in addition looked to be soaking wet, and his curse-blackened arm was held uselessly by his side. From the green tinge to his lips, Severus suspected that the foolish wizard had imbibed the mind-necrotising potion that he had shown Hermione, all those months previously. If that was correct, Dumbledore’s mind would be in a cataclysmic wreck, slowly closing in upon itself. 

The old man was also standing at the business end of Draco Malfoy’s wand. 

Malfoy looked petrified, frozen to the spot with his wand outstretched and motionless, not even a quiver. 

Severus glanced around for Harry Potter, since he had been with Albus tonight. No doubt the boy was around here somewhere, hidden under the invisibility cloak that had belonged to his wretched father. He could only hope that Potter was concealed safely, and would not interfere with the events that were about to unfold.

“Severus …”

Albus was calling him. The old headmaster’s voice was weak, pathetic and pleading. He could not bear it. No matter what wrongs he felt Albus Dumbledore had done him, he couldn’t bear him to see him painfully standing there, begging for release, a shadow of his former self, easy picking for a group of malevolent Death Eaters. 

He stepped forward, shoving Malfoy so roughly out of the way that the blond boy crashed into Amycus Carrow with a grunt. The three Death Eaters, and Fenrir Greyback, for that heinous creature was also here on this tower, fell back out of Snape’s way without a word. 

I hate you, old man. I hate you for giving me no choice but to do this. I hate you for damning my soul, for treating my life with so little regard that you reduced me to even less than the nothing, the nobody, that I already was. 

He tried with all the darkness of his heart to summon up enough hatred, enough bile, to cast the spell that he knew he must. 

“Severus … please.”

The time was now. Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore, whose face was calm and benign, despite clearly being in great pain. 

“Avada Kedavra!”

The green light shot in a jet from the end of his wand and hit the headmaster squarely in the chest, blasting him off his feet for a split-second in mid-air before he fell slowly backwards over the battlements, out of sight. 

Severus couldn’t breathe. And yet he must. 

“Out of here, quickly. All of us.”

He grabbed Malfoy by the scruff of the neck, forcing him through the door and down the stairs. The others followed him, he could hear the excited panting of the squat Alecto Carrow, and then he heard a large thump from behind. Turning, he saw that the last of their number had been hit with a Petrificus. Potter was there, right there, he must have cast it. He had seen what Severus had done. 

They needed to escape, now. 

Entering the corridor below, the Order members and students were fighting and upon the retreating group in an instant. He saw the Weasley girl dodging jinxes like a dancer. Thankfully, he could not see Hermione - please, please let her have stayed in his office, as he had told her. He tightened his hand around Draco’s collar and yanked him through the fray, not stopping to get involved. 

“It’s over, time to go!” he shouted hoarsely as he fled, bidding the Death Eaters to retreat and follow him. 

He hoped they would do so before someone was killed. Well, before someone else was killed. 

Still dragging Malfoy, he stepped over the body of Neville Longbottom, who was curled up in a ball, clutching his stomach. They ran at a terrific pace down to the entrance hall, past the hourglasses where Gryffindor’s had been smashed, and was spilling copious amounts of red rubies across the floor like bloodshed. 

They headed out of the doors and across the grounds, towards the gates, when there, finally, they could Apparate away. He could see that Hagrid was fighting Death Eaters down by his hut, trying to prevent them from escaping. 

Take care, Rubeus, he thought, keep away, just let them go. 

A bright red Stupefy shot past his head, dangerously close. He turned. Twenty yards away was Potter, his face contorted with rage and his wand aimed directly at Severus. 

“Run, Draco!” he commanded, shoving Malfoy in the direction of the main gates. The cowardly boy did not need to be told twice, and sprinted towards the gates in the distance. 

Snape and Potter eyeballed one another before raising their wands simultaneously. The boy attempted to cast the Cruciatus curse but Severus parried the shot, which most likely would not have been strong enough to take him down anyway. His defensive action caused Potter to be knocked backwards off his feet, but just as he was getting up, Amycus Carrow sent a roared Incendio at Hagrid’s hut, and there was an explosive bang as a dancing orange light spilled over all the combatants gathered in the vicinity. 

Potter looked at his friend’s house in fury, and then again tried to Crucio Severus, and he was standing nearer this time. Snape blocked it once more, trying to avoid hurting the boy any more than he had to. 

“No Unforgiveable Curses from you, Potter!” he shouted over the rushing of the flames, Hagrid’s yells and the wild yelping of his trapped dog. “You haven’t got the nerve or the ability!”

Potter continued to approach down the hill, shooting as many curses as he could from his mediocre range. He tried Incarcerous, Impedimenta, Stupefy and Sectumsempra – Severus repelled them all before Potter could even get the full incantation out of his mouth. The boy would have no chance against the Dark Lord, he would be dead in an instant. Granger had a better arsenal than he; she was quicker, cleverer, more creative and could now cast both without a wand and wordlessly, thanks to his intensive tuition this year. 

Thorfinn Rowle hit Potter with a Crucio from behind, and the boy collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain as the curse ripped through him. 

“No!” he roared. “Have you forgotten our orders? Potter belongs to the Dark Lord – we are to leave him! Go, go!”

Rowle released the curse and Potter was up on his feet again, now mere feet away. He attempted to cast Levicorpus. Severus reacted so violently and so quickly that Harry was thrown heavily on to his back on the hard ground. Snape leaned over him, a malevolent look in his eye, summoning the hatred that he had felt for this boy’s father.

“You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them – I, the Half-Blood Prince!”

Potter’s eyes opened wide at his words, breathing heavily but determined to get his words out.

“You? You’re the Half-Blood Prince? That was your book?” 

Severus sneered at him, decades of hatred pouring out of every pore. Potter dived for his wand, but he shot a hex at it so the boy could not reach it. 

“Kill me then, like you killed my father, you bloody coward!”

Snape’s heart filled with the most immeasurable pain at the accusation of cowardice. His anger was incendiary inside his gut. His entire life had been given over as a sacrifice to James, Lily and fucking Harry Potter, and yet still he was the coward. It was the worst insult that the damn boy could have thrown at him. He wanted to kill the little bastard, and then himself, ending this farce of an existence. Only his promise to Dumbledore prevented him from casting his second Avada in as many minutes. 

An immense stab of pain suddenly hit him, white-hot like a burning whip across his back. Potter fell back on to the ground, banging his head hard. Severus turned around, to see that his attacker was one of Hagrid’s damn hippogriffs, clawing viciously at his back, ripping his clothing to shreds and tearing at his skin. 

He roared in pain and turned to run. Enough was enough. Potter would not die at his wand. 

Moving his legs faster than he had done in years, he sprinted towards the gate where Draco was not pathetically waiting with the other Death Eaters, but had rather Apparated away with them, leaving Snape to face whatever fate befell him. There was no fucking loyalty amongst Voldemort’s followers. For self and self alone. 

Throwing the gates open Severus twisted into a painful Apparition, landing in a heap in the grounds of Malfoy Manor with the rest of the panting psychotic bastards that were now his only allies, for Dumbledore had made it so.   
He was to be the scapegoat, the untrusted, the outcast. For who the hell cared what happened to the greasy, unpleasant Severus Snape?

She cared, his mind insisted, lying on his side on the manicured lawns, his back burning and bleeding after the hippogriff’s attack, choking with the rest of the filth.

She wanted me. 

Wanted, past tense. 

After his actions tonight, there could be no doubt that Hermione Granger was now lost to him. 

Forever.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus – killed Dumbledore? What were they saying? That was impossible.

Chapter 25

Hermione was sitting with Ron, Tonks, Lupin and Luna around Bill Weasley’s bed in the hospital wing. Neville was in the next bed, but he merely looked as if he were sleeping, and Madam Pomfrey had reassured them that he was not seriously injured. Bill was another matter, however. 

Ron had told her that Bill had been attacked by Fenrir Greyback during the battle under the Astronomy Tower, and that his face, neck and upper body had been badly mauled. If he survived, he would be horribly disfigured; it made Hermione wince just to look at him. Madam Pomfrey was frantically dabbing a green ointment on to his wounds. 

The doors to the infirmary crashed open, and all of them turned as one to see Harry and Ginny running in, both looking distraught and desperate. Harry exchanged a few words with Lupin regarding Bill’s condition, whether he would be a true werewolf, since Greyback had been untransformed, and then Ron had assured them that Dumbledore would know something that could help his brother. 

“Ron – Dumbledore’s dead,” Ginny told him. 

“What?”

Remus Lupin exclaimed in despair, losing control of his emotions and sinking to a chair beside Bill’s bed, clutching tightly to Tonks’ hand. She placed her hand reassuringly on his back and looked to Harry for confirmation that what Ginny had said was correct, and he nodded, gravely. 

“How did he die?” Tonks whispered. “How did it happen?”

“Snape killed him,” replied Harry, immediately, “I was there, I saw it. We arrived back on the Astronomy Tower …”

Harry launched into a long explanation about how exactly Professor Snape had murdered the headmaster, but her friend’s words began to buzz confusingly in her ears as if someone had cast a Muffliato in the vicinity. 

Severus – killed Dumbledore? What were they saying? That was impossible. 

Hermione’s heart began to beat faster than it ever had before, thumping wildly as if it intended to lurch out of her chest and throw itself onto the cold hospital floor in a pulsing splat. She clapped her hands to her mouth, terrified of what might escape.

“And then Snape did it. The Avada Kedavra,” Harry finished. 

What? What?

No. 

Something was very wrong here. 

They heard the evocative sound of Fawkes’ phoenix lament echoing mournfully but beautifully outside in the darkness, breaking all their hearts into pieces. Everyone was crying, even Madam Pomfrey and Lupin. 

Only Hermione knew that her tears were for the killer, as well as the killed. 

What had Severus done? 

Why?

She drew her legs up onto the chair, resting her chin on her knees and wrapping her arms around her bent legs. Closing her eyes and feeling the tears squeeze from her closed lids and down her cheeks, she began to think, her mind searching desperately for an explanation. 

What had he said to her, just a couple of hours previously? Think, Hermione, think. 

“I am about to damn my soul to save that of a child.”

What had he meant by that? What child would be saved by Dumbledore’s death? 

Severus had seemed wildly on-edge, a glut of nervous energy coursing through his body, his muscles taut and his manner urgent. 

“I will not sully your goodness by telling you that I love you.”

They had sounded like someone’s last words, a declaration that might be made with a dying breath, at a time when a person had nothing left to lose by admitting their deepest feelings. She doubted Severus would ever have made such an admission, had he believed … had he thought … that he would ever see her again. 

She buried her face in her knees, trying to keep the panic from her sobs, trying to regulate her breaths – come on Hermione! One after the other, and another, that’s it …

Professor McGonagall had entered the infirmary and was being given the ugly news. Their Head of House had collapsed onto a hastily-conjured chair and blamed herself for sending Professor Flitwick to bring Snape into the fray. She explained what had happened with the Carrows in the Ravenclaw common room. 

Everyone began to chip in with their whereabouts and actions, and together they attempted to piece together what had happened. Harry explained about the Vanishing Cabinets that Draco had admitted mending and using in front of Dumbledore before he died. Ron looked utterly bereft that they had allowed Malfoy to escape from the Room of Requirement using Draco’s Hand of Glory and under cover of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. 

Lupin took up the refrain, explaining how Gibbon, a Death Eater, had set off the Dark Mark above the castle, and was then hit by a Killing Curse from one of his own side as he slunk back down, seemingly afraid to wait for Dumbledore alone at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

“So, if Ron was watching the Room of Requirement with Ginny and Neville,” Harry said, turning towards Hermione, “were you …?”

The full horror of the integral part she had played in the tragedy was now upon her, and Hermione lifted her head to face Harry, fresh tears beginning to fall. 

“I was outside Snape’s office with Luna, yes,” she whispered, explaining how they had hung around for a long while with nothing happening, feeling rather useless, and how eventually Professor Flitwick had coming racing down the corridor and into Professor Snape’s office. 

“We heard a thump,” she sobbed, “and then Sev … Snape came hurtling out of the room and told us …”

She broke down again, unable to believe her own naivety and ignorance. 

“What?” Harry urged her, when she did not continue. “What, Hermione?”

“I was so stupid, Harry!” she shouted, viciously, through her tears and running nose. 

Harry knelt down beside her and took her hand, gently. 

“No one would dare to ever describe Hermione Granger as stupid,” he reassured, squeezing tightly. “Just tell me what happened.”

Wiping her nose ungracefully on the sleeve of her jumper, she continued, the words falling out of her mouth and each one sounding a resounding death knell inside her brain. 

“He … Snape, said Professor Flitwick had collapsed and that Luna … that we should go and take care of him while he – while he went to help fight the Death Eaters.”

In absolute truth, Severus had said this only to Luna, for after the small blonde witch had disappeared into his office to attend to her unconscious Head of House, he had grabbed Hermione by the elbow and pulled her into an alcove, visibly terrified, said some very cryptic things, before effectively declaring his love to her and kissing her senseless before disappearing into thin air. This wasn’t something she was about to confess to Harry.

Hermione covered her face in shame and continued to talk into her fingers, so that her voice was muffled. 

“We went into his office to see if we could help Professor Flitwick and found him unconscious on the floor ... and, oh it’s so obvious now, Snape must have Stupefied him, but we didn’t realise, Harry, we didn’t realise, we just let Snape go!”

She had actually joined Luna in the office five minutes later, after the kissing, but fervently hoped that the dreamy girl would not pick up on this time discrepancy and mention it.

“It’s not your fault,” Lupin insisted. “Hermione, had you not obeyed Snape and got out of the way, he would probably have killed you and Luna.”

She nodded weakly, the pain of crying still hurting her throat. 

No, he wouldn’t have. He would never hurt me. 

But then, she wouldn’t have thought him capable of killing the Headmaster either, and it appeared he had done just that. 

Zoning out of the conversation again, she allowed the discussion to burble over her head as the others pieced together the movements of Severus, Draco and the other Death Eaters before they had finally escaped the grounds. 

Why had Severus been tugging Malfoy along with him? 

“I am about to damn my soul to save that of a child.”

Had he meant Draco’s soul? 

She thought of Harry’s insistence, all year, that Malfoy had been forcibly branded as a Death Eater, and her own sightings of Draco being summoned at the same times as Severus had albeit confirmed this. 

Harry had insisted that he had overheard Snape trying to pacify and appease Malfoy, as if he were trying to elicit information from him, assuring Draco that he wanted merely to assist him. Had Severus been protecting Malfoy in some way? 

However, she couldn’t think of what kind of protection would involve murdering someone to do so. Oh, her mind was a mess of distress and confusion, and the chaos was making her head hurt.

-xxx-

Much later that night, the whole school finally back in their beds, Hermione allowed her heart to wrench apart in the darkness. From guilt and from longing. She had spent best part of the school year having a relationship, both emotional and sexual, with the hated professor who had just slain the Headmaster with an Unforgiveable curse. 

Hermione thought she knew him. Tonight’s events showed her just how little she has known, and just how much he had kept from her. 

Had their relationship been purely a fulfilment of sexual need for him? 

Even as she questioned it, even with everything that had just happened, she knew the answer – No. 

She knew it had been more, from the lengthy time they had spent together not involved in any kind of physical contact. He had spent months drilling her on her offensive and defensive skills, teaching her useful protective charms and enchantments, making her aware that Dark Magic was a seducer, introducing her to Dark potions and objects. He had ensured that she was fully prepared for whatever lay ahead, for surely this was just the beginning … of the end?

-xxx-

The few days between that night and Dumbledore’s funeral were the most solemn that there had ever been at Hogwarts. The atmosphere was as subdued and tense as after Cedric Diggory had been killed by Voldemort during the final task of the Tri-Wizard tournament, but somehow the sense of despair and foreboding now was even worse than that. Several students were removed immediately by their fearful parents, not allowed to remain at the school to even pay their final respects. 

The funeral itself was as emotional as she’d expected, with Dumbledore being laid to rest in a pure white tomb on the island in the middle of the Black Lake. 

Professor Slughorn was named interim Head of Slytherin as Severus had deserted the role, and even amongst the maudlin atmosphere she could not help but ruefully imagine how disappointed Phineas, Salazar, Vida and the other portraits in the secret chamber were going to be as the corpulent Slughorn returned to them. 

As they readied themselves for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express, both she and Ron pledged to accompany Harry in his hunt for the remaining Horcruxes, even if it meant not returning to Hogwarts. It seemed now that only Harry could bring down Voldemort, and that the three of them appeared to be the only ones who knew of the existence of the Horcruxes. What was ahead of them, she knew not, but they would face it together. 

-xxx-

Severus was speeding across the North Sea on a superb broomstick borrowed from the indecently large collection at Malfoy Manor. At any other time, he would have been enjoying the flight, the taste and smell of the salt spray against his face, the wind whipping his hair and cloak, pushing his hood back as he flew at an exhilarating pace. 

Unfortunately, this was not an outing for pleasure. 

Barely allowed to draw breath after his audacious murder of the headmaster and his former employer Albus Dumbledore, Severus had been sent with a team of Death Eaters to break all their remaining ‘brothers’ out of Azkaban, Lucius Malfoy among them, along with the other reprobates that had found themselves captured by Aurors after the Battle at the Department of Mysteries the previous year. 

As he looked left, right and in front, all around him flew witches and wizards in identical black Death Eater robes, ghoulish silver masks pressed to their faces. He hated every single one of them with a passion, these ‘comrades’, these despicable stains of human filth that clung to the Dark Lord’s cloak with a reverence borne solely of hunger for power, or from sheer terror. 

The task they were expected to accomplish was not actually likely to be too difficult. Voldemort had finally turned the Dementors to his side, and the soul-sucking fiends were no longer controlled by the Ministry, they had broken free and declared their allegiance to the Dark Lord. There would be only a cursory wizarding guard on duty at Azkaban, low-ranking Aurors most likely, sent there to attempt to contain the prisoners in the absence of the Demetors. Severus pitied them, for they would all die tonight should they attempt to impede the Death Eater’s ‘rescue’ mission.

Approaching the vast, monolithic building set atop a huge rocky outcrop in the North Sea, the Death Eaters began to fire at the walls, blasting chunks away, hacking into the cells. Prisoners who were no use to them, petty criminals, those who did not bear the Dark Mark, were left cowering in their cells to defend themselves without wands or protection against the harsh elements. 

As they stormed the wreckage of Azkaban, tossing the bodies of the guards who had tried to resist them into the rough, grey waters below, it had been Severus’ bad luck to find himself in the cell of Lucius Malfoy, looking drawn and haggard after a year incarcerated here. Not bothering to hide the revulsion he felt at the sight of Malfoy, whose son had cost him so very much, he dragged the physically weakened man on to the back of his broom, harshly instructing him to hold tight around his waist.

Malfoy encircled his thin arms around Severus’ waist and clutched them upon his stomach with a deathly-tight grip that made him want to vomit. Setting his jaw, he rose the broom into the air and turned it back the way they had come, across the sea, seeing many of the other Death Eaters doing the same with ill and skeletal-looking escaping prisoners upon their backs. 

Such a parody of care and comradeship, Severus thought, despising himself for the role he was playing in such a farce. Once these rescued wizards were revived to full health they would be cursing and torturing each other again, and receiving no mercy in their treatment from the Dark Lord. 

Lucius Malfoy clung pathetically to his back, reminding Severus of a desperate parasite feeding from his power. He was Malfoy’s only hope of returning home alive, and they both knew it. 

As they arrived at Malfoy Manor he stopped short, making a deliberately bumpy landing on the manicured lawns, causing Lucius to fall from the broom and roll over several times. Looking around, he saw that they were alone. Other Death Eaters had no doubt taken their own passengers to their individual homes to recover, or to whatever hovels or shacks these vile beings rotted in. Voldemort would not be interested in playing any part in the care of his loyal followers as they restored themselves to their full strength. He would have them … afterwards. 

Narcissa and Draco ran from the house, across the lawns towards them, their pale faces and hair glowing brightly white in the darkness of the evening. They knelt next to Lucius, reassuring him, touching him, kissing him. 

Severus stood, his flesh cold, watching the touching scene play out on the ground before him. Neither Draco nor Narcissa acknowledged his presence, nor thanked him for his role in returning Lucius here. 

He felt a burst of sorrow inexplicably rise in his throat, and he bit the feeling back down, causing his throat to constrict and cause him deep pain in doing so. Who would ever welcome him home thus? Who would cry and delight in equal measure at his return?

He would not allow himself even the slightest thought of … her. 

Stalking to the ostentatious front gates of Malfoy Manor without a word, carrying his broom, he Apparated directly into a dirty alleyway around the back of Spinner’s End before disillusioning himself to walk to his house, checking that no one was watching before opening the door to his grotty house and letting himself inside. 

He sat in a battered old armchair and summoned his bottle of firewhisky, not even bothering with a glass as he upended the bottle straight into his mouth, reminding himself horribly of his fetid drunk of a father. 

No doubt Potter had told the world that it had been he, Snape, that had cast the Avada Kedavra upon Dumbledore, and Severus was just waiting for the knock of the Aurors at the door of his terraced house, identical to every other house in this forsaken street. 

But the knock had not come. He had murdered the headmaster, deserted his post at the school, and yet no one had come to find him. This could mean only one thing. That the Dark Lord had finally achieved his aim and taken control of the Ministry. 

-xxx-

Hermione lay on her childhood bed in her parents’ home, mentally repeating the contents of the letter she had received less than an hour previously. A nondescript post owl had arrived at her bedroom window that morning, bearing a small scroll sealed with black wax. 

“Hide your parents, where they cannot possibly be found. 

Muggle-born students will not be permitted to return to Hogwarts in September, and their parents are likely to be … persecuted, if not worse. 

Trust me.” 

No sooner than she had recognised the cramped, spiky handwriting that made her stomach lurch, and read to the bottom of the script, than the parchment had rolled itself up and burst into flames, turning it instantly into a pile of charred ash on her painfully pink bedroom carpet. 

Unbidden, hot tears began to prick at her eyes; tears of sadness and anger, of desperation and of regret. He had sent her this missive, ensuring that it would be magically destroyed after she had read it. He did not want it to fall into the wrong hands. 

Flinging herself onto the childish floral duvet, she thought of the DADA classes he had taught this past year, how many times had she become convinced that he was warning them, preparing them? 

This was another of his warnings, but what had it cost him to send it? He was working for Voldemort, that was for certain, but what if ultimately he was still working to Dumbledore’s orders, faithful to the plans of the Order of the Phoenix? She could not make the connection between that supposition and the murder, but why would he send her this warning if he did not want her to act on it?

Keeping Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts, that was exactly something that Voldemort, with his insane ideals of pureblood supremacy, would do. But to persecute their parents, too? Hermione shuddered at the thought. 

She was shortly to head to the Burrow for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and from there she, Harry and Ron would plan their escape to search for the Horcruxes, not returning to school. If Severus’ note was correct, she would not be able to return anyway, so they would not need to bother finding a convincing excuse for her absence alongside Harry. Ron, a pureblood wizard, would be a different story, but she had some ideas already planned. 

Before she could leave for the Burrow, not knowing if she would return alive from the Horcrux hunt, she had to ensure that her parents were safe. They had supported her from the first moment they’d been advised their daughter was a witch, obtaining special permissions so they could accompany her to Diagon Alley, supportive of her alternative education, telling friends Hermione attended a rural, highly-academic boarding school and giving no further details. 

She owed them their safety. 

They did not understand the magical world she lived in and were no part of it. If she told them why they must flee, they would certainly refuse to go, refuse to leave her. There was no choice but to Obliviate them. 

Tears welled in her eyes at the thought of erasing herself from her parents’ memories. But if it kept them safe, if it kept them alive … it had to be done. 

Hermione began to make plans, her mind racing with possibilities. Whilst she prepared, turning her mind over with ideas, another thought threaded its way through her preparations. 

It was possible that her Severus was still there, somewhere in this mess. 

His final words to her had been; “You will not know with whom you can place your trust.”

He certainly had that right. 

She had no bloody idea what to make of any of it.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a good move, as it forcibly decimated their own ranks, splitting the Death Eaters into smaller groups to tail each Potter. Lupin flew directly past him, meeting his eyes through the disguise of his Death Eater mask.

Chapter 26

Mr and Mrs Granger were slumped on the patterned sofa in their own living room, their eyes open, but glassy and unseeing. They were breathing normally, and were quite well, but were under the effects of a strong Stupefy cast by their own daughter. Hermione had hated doing it, of course, casting jinxes upon her parents, but could think of no other way to subdue them whilst she put the final pieces of her carefully-constructed plan in to place.

After much thought, Hermione had opted to heed the warning that Severus had owled her, however confused she still was about his actions and motivation. 

From the supposed ‘news’ that The Prophet delivered each day, she could sense the wind of change that Dumbledore had warned her about all those months before. Readers could no longer trust what the wizarding newspaper was telling them, but instead had to fight to decode exactly what, or how much, the editors were keeping from them. 

Deducing that The Prophet was falling, or had fallen, under Voldemort’s control, one had to wonder what would be next, the Ministry itself? Shuddering, she realised that was indeed most likely to be the case. 

Hermione need to hide her parents so completely that it would be impossible for the Death Eaters to find them. They would have to leave the country, all memory of their involvement with the wizarding world erased, the knowledge that they had a witch daughter amongst them. 

She worked quickly, knowing that the Stupefy could not be relied upon indefinitely, casting Evanesco upon everything that was not packed in her parents’ luggage, rapidly emptying the house ready for the new owners that would be arriving that afternoon. 

It had taken a great deal of magical skill and simple Muggle cunning to effect the transactions of selling her family home, changing the names on their bank accounts, dental qualifications and passports, buying them one-way tickets to Australia and renting a flat there for a month whilst they found their feet after their emigration across the globe. She had drafted resignation letters to the dental surgery and hospital where they each worked, and would post these once her parents had left for Heathrow airport. 

Once they were unconscious, Hermione had worked diligently to modify their memories using a combination of selective Obliviates and memory charms to such an extent that Mr and Mrs Granger, when they awoke, would believe their names to be Wendell and Monica Wilkins, whose life ambition was to move to Australia, where they would live in their rented flat whilst they looked for a home and new jobs, possibly their very own dental practice. They would never remember that they had once had a daughter, Hermione Jean Granger, a curly-haired, precocious child with buck teeth who had turned out to be a witch and attended a magical boarding school in Scotland. 

Gulping back her own emotions that were hurting her throat, she vanished the last of their belongings, leaving the house spartan and completely empty, excepting the suitcases which were labelled and ready to be taken down the front path to the airport minicab when it arrived, as it should do any minute now. 

Everything of her own, anything of worth and therefore most things she owned, were carefully packed inside a small, purple beaded handbag that looked no bigger than an evening bag that one might take to a party. It had been cleverly enhanced using the undetectable extension charm that Severus had taught her all those months ago. No one would ever be able to tell, either visually or from the weight, that it contained her entire library of precious books as well as other essentials such as clothes and money. The tiny bag could be slung across her body and kept with her all the time.

It was time. 

She cast a Rennervate upon her parents, who blinked a few times and then both stood up in a hurry, at the same time, looking a little confused but quickly recovered their composure. Her mother looked down at the two sets of house keys that Hermione had placed in her palm whilst she was unconscious. 

“Ah, just the keys then, Miss Taylor?” she said, holding the two bunches out to her daughter, unrecognising.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. It had worked. She had implanted a memory that she was simply the estate agent handling the sale of their house, so that it wasn’t a shock to her mum and dad to find a stranger in their house when they were just about to depart to the airport. 

“Thank you, Mrs Wilkins,” she replied, taking the keys, as the beep of a minicab pulling up outside the house could be heard. 

“There’s the cab, Monica,” her father said, “it’s time to go. Thank you so much, Miss Taylor, for all your help. Are you sure you don’t mind waiting to hand over the keys to the new owners?”

“Not at all, Mr Wilkins, it’s my pleasure. Besides, you have a plane to catch,” she smiled. 

“Indeed, we do.”

He picked up two of the cases, looking elated and excited, leaving her mother to take the smaller one and their hand luggage. Hermione had never ground her teeth so hard to control her own emotions, and her heart with its desperate pounding against her chest. 

They will be safe, she told herself. This is the only way. 

She bid them farewell as they clattered out of the empty house before closing the front door to her childhood home behind them. She walked into the living room to watch them covertly from behind the blue curtains, they were smiling with excitement as the driver loaded their bags into the cab, and they sat together in the back. Her father planted a kiss on her mother’s lips as the car drew smoothly away. 

Hermione wiped away a tear that was trickling down her cheek, and then left the house, locking the door to her past behind her, forever. 

She walked about half a mile to the village estate agents that had handled the sale of the house, with a little help from her Confundus charm, and passed over the keys, ensuring the funds from the sale had been deposited in the Wilkins’ joint bank account, which they would be able to access once they arrived in Australia. 

Finding a quiet alleyway, she Apparated to the gate of the Burrow where other members of the Order were waiting for her. 

It was over. Her parents were safe. 

-xxx-

Severus circled through the ominous grey clouds above the village of Little Whinging, astride a fine broomstick provided once again by the Malfoys, accompanied by dozens of his Death Eater ‘brothers’, and not forgetting the Dark Lord himself, who had deigned to leave the sanctuary of Malfoy Manor for this all-important mission of murdering an unarmed, underage teenage boy. 

Hating himself, Snape had drip-fed information to Voldemort regarding the transfer of Potter to the home of one of the Order, as once the boy came of age at the end of July, the protective enchantments that Albus had placed around Petunia’s home would break, and he would be instantly exposed. 

The Order were not allowing the Auror Office any further access to the boy. Quite rightly too, since the Imperius Curse had already been placed upon their Chief, one Pius Thicknesse, and any liaison with the Department for Magical Law Enforcement would serve Harry Potter straight into the scaly clutches of the Dark Lord. 

Severus, of course, had no further contact with the Order of the Phoenix, for any one of their members would strike him dead if they could, after his assassination of their leader. He had retained a strained and occasional contact with Mundungus Fletcher, however, as the untrustworthy, self-serving little oik was still trying to play both sides. As if that foolish excuse for a wizard and part-time thieving crook had any idea what it truly meant to play both sides, Severus mused, bitterly. 

Furnishing Mundungus with the idea to have several Order members Polyjuiced as Potter to confuse the pursuers, he could only hope that they had taken his plan seriously. Would he have listened to Fletcher, had he still been an active member of the Order? Probably not, Severus worried. 

There was suddenly a huge gust of wind as he suddenly realised that they were no longer alone. A flurry of broomsticks, two hideous-looking thestrals each with two riders, and Hagrid on that fucking motorbike that used to belong to Sirius Black rose up into their midst. Potter was in the sidecar of the motorbike, clutching a cage containing a white owl. There was also a Potter on the back of each thestral, and a Potter on every other broomstick, which were clearly travelling in pairs. His idea had worked. This was the only chance they had. 

The time was now. Each pair flew off in a different direction. 

It was a good move, as it forcibly decimated their own ranks, splitting the Death Eaters into smaller groups to tail each Potter. Lupin flew directly past him, meeting his eyes through the disguise of his Death Eater mask. 

Oh, he knew. 

The wolf had recognised the eyes of his old nemesis. Accompanied by two of his revolting comrades, Severus set off in pursuit of Lupin and the Potter that flew alongside him, close by, barely any distance between them. 

Turning back, he saw Voldemort head straight for Alastor Moody, an enormous and confident presence on his huge broomstick. Fucking mental, the ex-Auror was, he looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, staring straight into the eyes of the smoke-like presence of the Dark Lord, who was flying under his own steam, without a broom. Severus could swear that Moody winked at Voldemort, goading him. 

It was all over in a split second. 

The Potter who had been partnering Moody took one terrified look at Voldemort and Disapparated into thin air, taking his broomstick with him. Voldemort cast the Avada Kedavra and Moody fell from his broom, his huge, solid, indestructible body hurtling down through the clouds like a lead weight. 

Severus felt sick. Voldemort had presumed that the real Potter would be with the most powerful, the most experienced Order member, that being the notorious dark wizard-catcher Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody. Whoever it was that had been partnering Moody, it was certainly not Harry Potter. The stupidly-brave Gryffindor would never have deserted the mission, plus he was not old enough to Apparate. No, most likely it had been that cowardly shit, Mundungus Fletcher, Severus he would lay many Galleons upon it. 

With a loud cry of anger, the Dark Lord then looked around for a second pair to pursue. There was no doubt he intended to kill them all in his desperation to ensure that the boy was dead. 

Severus set his jaw firmly and continued his pursuit of Lupin and the Potter that flew with him, hoping with all his heart that Hermione had not volunteered for the job of taking Polyjuice, but knowing in his heart that she most likely had. Granger would do anything for Harry-bloody-Potter. 

He did not know where Lupin was headed, but it was nowhere he recognised. ‘Potter’ began flinging hexes over his shoulder, hitting the Death Eater that was flying alongside him and leaving him hanging off his broom by his fingertips. That arsehole could just get himself back up again, Severus wasn’t about to stop and assist him. The good thing about being a Death Eater, is that they were all heartless bastards, no one would expect him to stop and help. 

They were starting to descend. Where the fuck were they? Lupin shot a nasty hex over his shoulder as he dived, that hit Severus on the side of his face, knocking his mask askew and pushing his black hood back, exposing his true identity. He supposed he deserved it, after all, he had outed Lupin as a werewolf to the entire populace of Hogwarts when he had taught there. 

Lupin met his eyes and looked at Severus with pure hatred. The distraction of doing this caused the wolf a moment’s loss of concentration, and Macnair was upon him, about to fly between the riders to separate them, no doubt to kill Lupin and hold Potter prisoner until the Dark Lord arrived. 

Without thinking too deeply, Severus shot a Sectumsempra at Macnair, who was just being barged bodily out of the way by the Potter on the second broom. His slicing hex hit Potter in the side of the head, taking off his left ear with one clean swipe. Severus saw the blood began to pour from the gaping wound. 

Lupin reached out to grab the wildly lurching broom of the injured boy who could not control it, just as the two of them disappeared into thin air. They must have reached one of the Safe Houses, the wards set up with every manner of protection to allow only the intended Order members to penetrate inside them. Thank fuck for that. 

He had no idea whether the person he had hit was Potter himself, or another Order member, Polyjuiced as the boy. He had no idea whether that person would die from blood loss. If they survived, they would be missing their ear for the rest of their lives.   
Macnair was furious that they had not captured Potter, but congratulated Severus on wounding him, weakening him. The stupid fucking bastard clearly didn’t realise the hex had been intended for own worthless head. 

They retraced their flight path, heading back towards Little Whinging, as no one was quite sure what to do now, since none of them, excepting himself, had expected a multitude of Harry Potters to appear. They were about half-way back when their Dark Marks began to burn. 

-xxx-

Hermione was huddled in a large armchair, holding hands with Ron in the living room of the Burrow, which suddenly seemed very small with the amount of people, one of whom was a half-giant, crammed inside it. 

George was laid out on the sofa, his face bloodied and deathly pale, with his mother attending to the gaping wound in the side of his head, using a mixture of spellwork and a pile of absorbent white gauze. 

It had been Severus that had caused it, Lupin had told them, using Sectumsempra, the same curse that Harry had found in ‘Advanced Potion Making’ and used on Draco Malfoy in the bathroom. 

Why had she never made a proper, close inspection of that book? She had been so dismissive of it, refusing to even look, and had she done so, she would have recognised Snape’s distinctive spiky handwriting immediately and was still incredulous that Harry had been so thick as to not. 

“I hexed off his mask. His eyes were black and cold, nothing there,” shuddered Lupin. “It seems that Albus was wrong to place his trust in Snape. I mean, of course I wondered, we all did, but what Severus has done … I just cannot comprehend it. Albus was never wrong.”

Tonks was standing next to him, and slipped her arm around his waist, tucking herself under his arm. Despite everything, it was good to see the two of them together, so in love. 

“Everyone can be wrong sometimes, Remus.”

“Not him. Never Albus. There’s something I’m missing, I am sure of it. There is something I do not understand. Believe me, I don’t want to think highly of Severus any more than you do, the man is vindictive and slippery, but I am convinced there is something else, a missing piece.”

Many of the others shook their heads, sadly, for their own limited trust in Snape had been blown to pieces, and Harry himself was spitting fire. 

“He’ll pay for what he’s done. Trust me.”

Hermione didn’t recognise the hateful look in her friend’s eyes. Harry was courageous and determined, and yes, sometimes stupid and reckless, but never ruthless or vengeful. 

Lupin’s confusion was interesting, though. He, more than most of the people in this room, had the most enduring relationship with Severus following their years at school. Remus would have every reason to hate Severus. But he was questioning. Despite their mutual dislike, Lupin was not immediately condemning him. Does that mean she should do the same? It was a glimmer of hope in an otherwise desolate landscape of despair. 

As she lay in bed that night, listening to Ginny’s light snores and Fleur tossing and turning, for Mrs Weasley would not allow Bill and Fleur to share a bedroom until they were officially married, Hermione began to mentally prepare a list of things they would need. 

Severus had warned her that Muggle-borns would not be permitted to return to Hogwarts. What did that mean? To make such a decree, the Ministry would have to issue it, and the only way it would, is if Voldemort took control of the Ministry of Magic, which was a terrifying thought. 

If Harry were not to return to school, there would be hell to pay, she knew it. They would likely have to go ‘on the run’, hiding in plain sight, possibly among Muggles, as they worked on their quest to locate the remaining Horcruxes. 

They would not be able to stay here in the Burrow, for it would put Arthur and Molly in too much danger. They also needed a plausible excuse for Ronald not to return to school. Perhaps a terrible, contagious sickness that meant he could not be in contact with others? She would read up on wizarding illnesses tomorrow. 

Finally, her brain still racing, Hermione fell into a fitful sleep, only waking to the dulcet tones of Mrs Weasley summoning them all to breakfast at what felt like an ungodly hour, the next morning. Death Eater chases across the skies and injured sons? Nothing would interfere with Molly Weasley providing breakfast. 

-xxx-

Sneaking around the house over the following few days, Hermione began to surreptitiously collect together the things she thought they would need on their search for the Horcruxes. 

She even risked a trip to Diagon Alley under the guise of helping Fred secure the shop, which they had temporarily closed due to George’s injury, and the immediate threat from the Dark. Many of the shops in the previously thriving Diagon Alley were closed, boarded-up, and some had been burnt out. The sight of Ollivanders burned to the ground, with all those thousands of hand-carved wooden wands inside, had been particularly hard to swallow. 

Fred had accompanied her to Slug and Jiggers, one of the few shops that was still open, and she’d purchased a variety of remedies; including dittany, Skele-Gro and the green wound paste that Madam Pomfrey had used on Bill after he’d been attacked by Greyback. If Fred was suspicious about her purchases, he did not question her. In fact, he was surprisingly discreet for someone so loud and genial, only mentioning briefly at home that Hermione had been helping him in Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, that was now boarded up like the other shops, hopefully only temporarily. 

Her most difficult challenge had been snaffling the tent they’d used at the Quidditch World Cup from Mr Weasley’s shed in the garden of the Burrow. She’d hit upon the idea of taking it as it meant they would always have a secure place to sleep, even if there was no building for them to hide in. She’d had the whole tent already hidden in her bag when he’d burst in and looked at her most curiously. 

Hermione had been forced to apologise and admit an unhealthy obsession with his collection of spark plugs and batteries in order to divert his attention from the fact she was standing uninvited in his personal and private shed, having stolen a tent. 

An hour later, after a tour of his extensive collection that she fake-smiled her way through, Hermione managed to leave the shed with Arthur’s old colleague’s tent securely concealed in her beaded bag. 

Now, time for clothes. Hers, Ron’s and Harry’s. She snuck into Ron’s attic room, hoping fervently not to get caught as she rifled through the messy piles of clothes on the bedroom floor. After that, it was only whittling down her final choice of books, and she was prepared to leave in a split-second’s notice. The beaded bag matched her outfit for the wedding perfectly, she could keep it with her at all times. 

She was ready. 

-xxx-

“The Ministry has fallen. They are coming.”

They are coming.

The echoing warning came from the mouth of Kingsley Shacklebolt’s lynx Patronus during the evening reception following Bill and Fleur’s wedding. 

As the silvery creature twisted into thin air, the guests seemed stunned into silence, broken only by the crack of the first Disapparition. A second after that, it seemed like all hell had broken loose, as Death Eaters stormed the marquee that had been erected for the wedding ceremony and subsequent reception in the garden of the Burrow.

Hermione searched for Ron and Harry, who were both already on their way towards her through the chaos, approaching from opposite sides of the room. She saw Ron shoot a desperate look across the marquee at the sight of his parents and brothers bravely tackling the intruders, before she grabbed both of their hands and Apparated them all away. 

The whole process had taken no more than thirty seconds from Kingsley’s warning to their arrival in the busy streets of London, Tottenham Court Road, the first place that had popped into her head as she’d taken hold of her friends’ hands.

Their hunt had begun. 

-xxx-

Severus attempted to stride down the hallways of Malfoy Manor with confidence, but in truth his heart had sunk to the soles of his dragon-hide boots as soon as he’d received the latest summons via the conduit of his Dark Mark. 

Voldemort had overthrown the Ministry, assassinating Rufus Scrimgeour and putting the Imperiused Pius Thicknesse in place as a puppet Minister. It was a masterstroke. The Dark Lord was now controlling wizarding Britain without ever having to step inside the Ministry of Magic. 

He’d wasted no time in forcing Thicknesse to place Corban Yaxley into his old role as Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, and then appointing Dolores Umbridge as Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Committee, a heinous new department that had been set up to banish and punish Muggle-born witches and wizards. 

The Dark Lord had operated with remarkable speed. He had been furious that his plan to kill Harry Potter the night he was moved from Little Whinging had been thwarted, and now that the boy had turned seventeen and was of age, the Ministry trace on him had been removed. He was now undetectable wherever he chose to roam. That was something, at least. 

Severus entered the office at Malfoy Manor to find only a small gathering of Voldemort, Thicknesse, and the vile Carrow twins present, with one empty chair which he presumed was his, although experience dictated that he should wait to be invited, before seating himself. 

“Severusss. You have done well.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“Lord Voldemort wishes to reward your loyal service.”

Fuck. The Dark Lord’s rewards were not something he desired. 

“You killed Dumbledore, Severus. You left Hogwarts without a Headmaster.”

No. Don’t do this to me, he thought, desperately but uselessly. 

“I have decided that you shall fill the role. I will not have a mangy Gryffindor cat running my school. You are the only choice, Severus.”

“My Lord is too generous,” he choked out. 

“Not only that, Severus. Alecto here will serve as your Muggle Studies professor, since we so carelessly lost the previous one. Alecto will put a stop to the pro-Muggle propaganda that Miss Burbage was peddling, and teach the subject as it should be taught. As a warning … and a threat.”

Alecto grinned at him, nastily, and the thought of sharing living space with this vile bitch made him think that the cavernous Hogwarts castle was in no way big enough to ensure he was far enough away from her. He flicked his eyes involuntarily towards her brother. Surely, Voldemort wouldn’t put this gorilla on the staff as well?

“Amycus will take over your own role as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Although we shall be tweaking the curriculum here too.”

“I’ll just be teaching the Dark Arts,” Amycus stated, coolly. “These brats have a lot to learn about real magic. We need them prepared for the real world.”

Severus wondered whether Amycus actually knew how to read or write, or if he just intended to have the students throwing curses at each other the entire lesson. 

“What say you, Severusss?”

“I am most honoured, My Lord,” he lied, wanting to vomit right then and there on Lucius Malfoy’s polished oak desk. 

“The change will be effected immediately. Tomorrow, you are to get yourself to Hogwarts and take over ownership of the Headmasters’ office. Your first instruction is to compile a list of all Muggle-born students and remove them from the school roll. These students will not be permitted to return to Hogwarts, and any that are of age will be called before the Muggle-Born Registration Committee and forced to answer for their crimes of theft of magic.” 

Hermione. 

Oh, fuck. His Hermione. 

“If they are found to be guilty, your loyal brothers will visit their families, and ensure they never again are able to send their Muggle spawn to pollute the wizarding world.”

Snape’s hunch that Hermione should hide her parents had been correct. But had she listened? Did she trust him, despite everything? No doubt the Muggle family of Harry Potter’s best friend would be first on the Death Eaters’ list of places to pay a visit to.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“You are dismissed, Severus. The Carrows will join you when you send for them, when you are prepared.”

I shall never be prepared for those filthy deviants. 

He left the office swiftly, for it never paid to loiter around the snakey bastard if one could possibly help it. Apparating back to Spinners End, the now-ubiquitous bottle of firewhisky found its way into his hand as soon as he slumped in the worn armchair by the bookshelves. 

How could he possibly undertake what was being asked of him? He would be the most hated headmaster that Hogwarts had ever known.

Damn you, Albus, he thought, not for the first time. Damn you for putting me in this position. 

“I will not negotiate with you, Severus.” Dumbledore had told him, when he had begun to protest at what was being asked of him. “You promised.”

A promise that was threatening to choke his life and soul from him. 

The enormity of the task ahead was overwhelming, and for tonight, the only answer appeared to be self-obliviation. 

Severus tipped the chunky bottle into his mouth, allowing the fiery liquid to scorch his throat, needing to be very drunk, very fast. 

-xxx-

Hermione sat with Harry on two of the camping chairs in Mr Weasley’s tent, both unable to sleep as they were sick with worry about Ron, who was a horrendous grey colour and sleeping fitfully on one of the beds, trying to recover from his horrific Splinching earlier in the day, sustained as they had escaped the Ministry. 

Their mission had been successful, in that they had retrieved the genuine Horcrux locket from around the flabby neck of Dolores Umbridge, but unsuccessful in that they had given away their hiding place at Grimmauld Place by inadvertently taking Yaxley with them when they had Apparated. 

Ron had been badly Splinched, and she thanked Merlin that she had thought to buy the dittany on her trip to the apothecary. She had done her best to put him back together, but the chunk of flesh missing … it was quite foul, especially to see such an appalling injury upon her friend.

Neither she or Harry were talking, simply sitting staring into space with mugs of tea going cold in their hands, casting regular glances to Ron’s bed every time he made the slightest noise.

Harry had been impressed with Hermione’s preparations, and she had used the protective enchantments that Severus had taught her to secure their tent and themselves. 

Cave Inimicum, Salvo Hexia, Protego Totalum, Muffliato. She knew what to do. He had prepared her better than she could possibly imagined. 

She still trusted him. Against all the evidence to the contrary, she did. 

Hermione could not shake her trust in the dark professor who had captured her mind, body and soul, had left her standing in the dungeon corridor, and for reasons known only to himself, had then climbed to the top of the Astronomy Tower and murdered the headmaster with a killing curse. 

To all intents and purposes, he was an evil Death Eater, loyal to Voldemort, a man who had hoodwinked Dumbledore, and made the powerful wizard look like nothing but a fool that had paid with his life for his misplaced trust in Severus Snape.   
But something didn’t sit right, and Hermione knew that Lupin had thought the same. 

Dumbledore was not foolish, however much he liked to play-act the dotty old man. Snape had told her she would be uncertain about where to place her trust, and he had specifically told her not to trust in appearances, to take things simply on face value. 

She thought of the quiet wizard she had begun to know during the months of Occlumency and additional defensive magic lessons, which had often become less about practising the skills and more about conversation - long talks late into the evening where it became apparent that the sour wizard had not a friend in the world to call his own. 

She thought of the man who had given her his virginity, and with whom she had learned together what their bodies could do. They’d had sex, made love, and every possible variation in between. Even to think of him gave her an empty feeling deep inside that she knew only he could fill. 

Could it be, that even though he appeared to be a traitor, was it possible that Severus was still on their side, fighting for the Light, just as Dumbledore had always insisted to Harry? 

It looked unlikely, but it had to be. 

It just had to.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your contribution to my plans has been immense, Severus, and you have done wonderfully. You do not have far to go, my dear boy, I am sure of it. We can win this. We can defeat Tom Riddle.”

Chapter 27

The new Headmaster Snape stalked through the empty corridors of Hogwarts at a great pace, his forked black cloak billowing silently in his wake. He was careful to avoid eye contact with any of the portraits, concentrating only on reaching his destination, which was his unwanted new office. 

He had Apparated to the boar-topped iron gates of the school, which had surprisingly still opened at the recognised touch of his wand. So, he had not been banished from the grounds for murdering the Headmaster. 

That honour had fallen to Harry Potter, branded as ‘Undesirable Number One’ by the Ministry, now of course under the full control of Lord Voldemort. Potter was now a wanted man, standing accused of killing Dumbledore and then fleeing. Every Snatcher in the land would be searching for him, eager to claim the bounty of Galleons that had been laid upon the boy’s head. 

As Severus entered the school grounds, he had passed Hagrid’s hut. The half-giant had been sitting outside on the steep stone steps that led up to his front door, a slobbering black boarhound by his side, tinkering with some wood as if he were building some type of fence or crate. 

Rubeus had looked up as Severus had approached, not standing, but suddenly sitting up very straight and tall from his position on the steps. He had locked eyes with Severus for a few seconds, his own eyes barely visible beneath shaggy brown hair and wild beard, and all Severus could see within them was confusion. 

Confusion … and sorrow. 

“Mornin’ ‘Edmaster Snape,” he called, cautiously. 

Severus was surprised at his words. 

Unable to return them due to his own shame, he merely nodded curtly at the gamekeeper in acknowledgement. He supposed he had better start the way he was obliged to carry on – he must be untouchable, impenetrable, unmerciful. Severus continued walking up the long path towards the castle, not waiting long enough to see the tears pool in Hagrid’s eyes as he shook his head sadly at the dog. 

The huge, heavy front doors of the castle had swung open as he approached, despite no one being attendant at the school to let him in. It was the summer holidays, and no teacher or member of staff would be in residence until a week before school started, at the earliest. He suspected that most of them would allow the maximum amount of time to elapse before returning to Hogwarts under his leadership. 

He entered the Headmasters’ Tower and turned the corner onto Gargoyle Corridor, which was dominated by the huge stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmasters’ office. Previously, he had always had to supply the gargoyle with a password when he visited Albus, but this time … yes, as his footfall approached, the statue began to spin, revealing the spiral staircase ready to transport him to his new office. 

Placing a tentative foot on the bottom step, just in case this all turned out to be some nightmarish mistake, the staircase began to move. No going back now, as if that had ever been an option. 

Entering the familiar office filled him with a remorse and grief that he had not been expecting. The circular room had been left just as he remembered, even Albus’ astronomical instruments were still in-situ, and everything had clearly just been freshly cleaned and tidied, no doubt the work of the school house-elves. 

Keenly aware that all eyes were upon him from the walls of portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses, he attempted to ignore them, ever comfortable under scrutiny at the best of times. His first steps were towards the window to gaze out at the familiar view, and throw open the sash to allow some fresh air to circulate through the oppressive heat of August. 

Severus was suddenly hit with a question, and one he wanted an answer to immediately. 

He strode across the room to Dumbledore’s desk, now his desk, he supposed, and wrenched open the small drawer that Albus’ eyes had flickered to many a time during conversations regarding what he may have Seen of the future.

The drawer was completely and utterly empty. 

“There never was any Time-Turner, Severus,” called a familiar voice, from behind his turned back. 

Taking a moment to compose himself, he spun around, facing down the portrait with its familiar twinkling blue eyes, long white beard, and a sad smile. His heart lurched into his throat, making it constrict with the unfamiliar pain of grief. He was unprepared for this moment. 

“So I see.”

“Severus …”

“Don’t, Albus. Do not.”

“My boy.”

“I am not your boy. I am your sacrificial lamb.”

“Your contribution to my plans has been immense, Severus, and you have done wonderfully. You do not have far to go, my dear boy, I am sure of it. We can win this. We can defeat Tom Riddle.”

Severus rolled his eyes in disbelief, taking a step back to perch his buttocks upon the corner of the desk. 

“Albus has sacrificed his life for the cause he believed in.”

An unfamiliar voice had spoken up, and Severus turned to discover the source. A long-dead headmistress was addressing him, he did not even know her name or how long ago she had ruled over Hogwarts. 

“He sacrificed mine also, Madam.”

“Not yet. Whilst there is breath in your body you still have a chance,” she retorted. 

“I have no chance!” 

He turned back to Dumbledore’s portrait, angrily. 

“If by some miracle I am not murdered by that despotic madman or one of his equally deranged followers, and I stress … by some miracle, then I shall go down in history as the man who murdered the great Albus Dumbledore, the wizard whose tenure at Hogwarts was the most hated and reviled of all time!”

“Severus …”

“There is nothing you can say, Albus. Yes, I am very sorry you are dead. More sorry that you could ever imagine. But you were dying anyway, we both know that, dying slowly and painfully due to an error of your own making. But you have left me utterly alone, reviled by the students, by the Order, by Potter, and … and by her.”

Thinking of Hermione stabbed painfully at his tortured heart. 

“Miss Granger, given time, will understand all that has happened. She will be there for you, Severus. She will speak up for you, and will not allow you to be denigrated and lambasted. She will be there for you … at the Close.”

“What is this Close you persistently speak of?”

“The close of the plan. The moment when all my arrangements fall into place.”

“Your arrangements?”

“Yes.”

It seemed that was all the information Severus was getting. He stood up, and threw himself rather petulantly into the sumptuous leather of the chair behind the Headmaster’s desk. 

“Headmaster Snape. The previous Heads of Hogwarts who adorn these walls here, have sworn to support and provide good counsel to the current incumbent, whomever they may be. You will find all of us a source of advice, an ear of support, and even a word of humour, should that be needed. For we have nothing else to do but remain at your disposal.”

An old Headmaster by the name of Everard had made the sincere speech, which was being echoed with murmurs and nods of agreement that rippled around the curved walls. 

“You are not alone, Severus. I would not have asked you to do this alone, my boy,” Dumbledore added, quietly. 

He looked up at Albus’ portrait, where the familiar bright blue eyes were brimming with tears, and to his horror, he could feel a sting behind his own. Was he fucking crying? He would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him weep, and roughly blinked them away. 

“What about … her, Albus?”

“I believe that Phineas can assist you there.”

Of course. He did have at least one genuine ally here. He, and former Head of Slytherin house, Phineas Nigellus Black, had intimate knowledge of one another’s desires, tastes and weaknesses, thanks to Salazar’s chamber. Severus sprang from the chair and walked over to where Black’s portrait was placed in a rather ignominious position near the door. 

“Phineas.”

“Severus, old friend.”

“Do you hold information on Miss Granger?”

“I remember her well,” he drawled, a smirk creeping to his lips and winking luridly. 

Of course, Black had intimate knowledge of Hermione too. Severus hoped he would keep that quiet, between these office walls. 

“And?”

“The saucy girl has taken my other portrait, the small one that hangs in Grimmauld Place, and I am currently stuffed inside some kind of immense wardrobe that she is carting around with her.”

The undetectable extension charm. Granger had remembered. Good girl. 

“Where is she? Is she safe, is she alone?”

“She is with only the Potter boy and one of the Weasley blood traitors. There are so many of those red-heads that I cannot fathom which one is which. Miss Granger appears to be safe, from what I can ascertain when she carelessly leaves the bag open, they are camping in variety of forested or isolated spots. They vary their location regularly.”

“Is she protected? Have you heard her cast any protective enchantments?”

“I have indeed. Most impressed the two young men were too. Although the red-headed one was badly Splinched, and I currently hear much dissent and disagreement from him during his recovery.”

That is because he is a spoiled little Weasley shit, Severus privately thought. 

“You will continue to tell me if you have any more information?”

“Of course, Severus. I am most proud to finally see another Slytherin seated in this hallowed office.”

“However illegally that seat was obtained,” sniffed a fat Hufflepuff in a large painting, the same witch who had berated him earlier. 

“Constance, that is unfair,” Albus remonstrated. “Severus has done nothing but comply with my orders. You will offer him your full support, as you would to any incoming Headmaster.”

Severus saw the portly Constance shuffle self-consciously in her chair, muttering under her breath. If an old, dead Hufflepuff couldn’t see past his actions, he had precisely no chance with the rest of the Hogwarts staff. He was a dead man, the only variant being how long he had left. 

-xxx-

The first weeks of term were as hellish as he’d expected, with the staff openly, but silently, despising him. His old colleagues, not that he’d ever had anything approaching a friendship with any of them, but at least relationships had been cordial and professional, now looked at him with hateful reproach. 

The Carrows were every bit as welcome as he was. 

Thoroughly unpopular with both the students and staff, they had aroused universal revulsion with their insistence on having shared living quarters. Severus had no choice but to place them in one of the chambers reserved for married couples, as occasionally in Hogwarts history there had been both husband and wife on the teaching staff. 

Severus had long suspected that the odious twins had an incestuous sexual relationship and this had been confirmed when he had knocked on the door of their chambers the night of the Welcome Feast, since they had not bothered to present themselves in the staff room prior to joining the other teachers at the head table. 

He had been horrified to find Alecto bent over on her knees on the bed, her skirts lifted over her head and her brother’s cock frantically impaling her gaping arsehole. He was possibly even more horrified that Amycus had bid him to enter the room without ceasing his filthy activities. The two deviants had absolutely no shame in what they were doing, and saw no reason to hide it. 

Severus had ordered them to the Great Hall and turned on his heel, the memory of their unnatural coupling firmly imprinted on his brain and whisking his appetite for the feast clean away, replacing it with reviled nausea. 

His opening speech was nothing like the warm, welcoming address that Albus would always give. The Dark Lord had given him very specific instructions as to how the school should be run; with punishment, fierce discipline and wholly Pureblood ideology as the core values. 

“Students and staff,” he had started, addressing the hall in a quiet but forbidding tone, so that they were forced to be completely silent to be able to hear him. 

“You will notice that our number is much reduced this year. This is because the decision has been taken to evaluate all Muggle-borns for evidence of magical heritage and bloodlines. Only pureblood and half-blood students will now be permitted in this school. If you have any questions pertaining to this matter please approach your Head of House. 

Now, may I introduce Professor Amycus Carrow, who will be teaching The Dark Arts, and his sister, Professor Alecto Carrow, who will take Muggle Studies.”

He deliberately emphasised the word, sister. 

“As with any new headteacher, you should expect changes. Not all these changes will be to your liking. Rest assured that discipline is to be restored within Hogwarts with immediate effect. Now, eat.”

He had sat down to shocked silence, not that he’d expected any applause. 

The Slytherin table was fuller than any other, since a Muggle-born student had yet to be sorted there. Mostly purebloods, their snake ranks were still strong. The other three houses had taken significant hits from the new ruling, and the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables had many spaces, and far fewer first-years than usual. 

Severus retired to his chambers that night feeling thoroughly out of his depth, and completely unworthy of facing the gargantuan task ahead. 

-xxx-

As September drew to a close, the school turned from a thriving place of learning to an institution full of cowed staff and fearful students. The Carrows had implemented a vicious set of sanctions and punishments, and it was all he could do to keep the psychotic bastards from actually killing someone. 

Alecto and Amycus stood before him in the headmasters’ office, for he had deliberately not provided them with chairs. He needed to urgently bring them to heel, and intimidation was the way to go. Neither of them were particularly bright, and he knew he cut an imposing figure from behind the solid wooden desk. 

He leaned back in his chair, his elbows on the arms and steepling his fingers, tapping them against his chin as he regarded them both with disgust and hatred.

“I am aware of our relative positions within the ranks of the Dark Lord,” he began. “But let me remind you that I am the Headmaster of this school. I am the professor with twenty years teaching experience, and I will not have Hogwarts turned into a place where the two of you fulfil your sadistic desires.”

“Turning soft, Snape?” Alecto jeered. 

“Quite the opposite, Professor Carrow. I simply value my life, and I should not wish to risk the wrath of the Dark Lord should you inadvertently murder a child of a Death Eater, or one from a high-ranking pureblood family in your insane pursuit of punishment and correction.”

Both the Carrows blanched. Clearly that notion had not entered their thick skulls at any point. 

“Well, which ones …” Amycus stuttered, but was interrupted by Severus holding up an exasperated hand to stop him.

“I will not be providing you a list of whom you can, or cannot, torture. Exercise restraint in your copious use of the Cruciatus Curse. Refer all students who have committed misdemeanours to me, and I shall decide the manner of their punishment, should correction be required. That is a direct order, do you both understand?”

He received two sulky and recalcitrant nods in return. 

“Hogwarts is, first and foremost, a place of learning. Imagine how annoyed the Dark Lord would be if the two of you were to single-handedly destroy the next generation? Now, get out, back to your diseased little chambers and the heinous things you do there.”  
“Fuck you, Snape,” Amycus muttered under his breath, as he and Alecto headed for the exit. 

“I’d rather not,” Severus replied, coldly, slamming the heavy door shut behind them with a wave of his wand, hoping that it hit Alecto on her giant arse. 

-xxx-

A few days later, Severus was inordinately glad that he had taken the Carrows to task, when he apprehended Neville Longbottom, the Weasley girl, and an airy fart of a Ravenclaw by the name of Lovegood attempting to smuggle the fucking Sword of Gryffindor down the back staircase. 

He had no idea what the bloody hell they thought they were doing, but he was joined by the Carrows as he escorted the three miscreants through the corridors and back to his office, having insisted that Miss Weasley hand over the priceless artefact, which she had reluctantly done, her face full of hate for him. 

As they all entered the office, the solid glass case that usually contained Gryffindor’s sword was smashed to smithereens, shards of glass all over the floor of the office and on the surfaces beneath and around the case. Lining all three up in front of him, painfully aware of the Carrows lurking in the background, he addressed them, trying to appear as enraged as possible.

“Perhaps we start by you telling me exactly why the three of you required the sword of Godric Gryffindor?”

Knowing they would not tell him, he immediately Legilimised into the mind of Miss Weasley, for she would be the one least likely to break his stare, to look away. He was correct, and she bravely stared him down. Right in the forefront of her mind he could see Potter. They were attempting to procure the sword for him, no doubt. 

“Silence? How … interesting. So, how to proceed?”

“I’ll take the little bastards to the dungeon, Professor Snape. It seems they need to be taught a serious lesson,” wheezed Alecto. 

Longbottom visibly winced, his bruised jaw already betraying some of the brutal treatment he had suffered at the hands of the two Death Eaters that Snape was forced to call teachers. The boy was proving as brave and as stoical as his parents had been, for yes, Severus had known them. 

“Mr Longbottom, Miss Weasley, Miss Lovegood. You are guilty of entering my office without permission, causing damage, and attempting to steal a valuable magical artefact. You can expect a severe punishment. Take yourselves down to the gamekeeper, immediately. Do not stop for your cloaks. Tell Professor Hagrid what has happened, and that you are to complete a full evening’s detention from now until curfew, within the Forbidden Forest. Perhaps a few hours in the cold will loosen your tongues. Get out, now. All of you.”

Lovegood had looked at him with immediate comprehension in her eyes. Despite her outward dizziness, it appeared that she knew. Miss Weasley was too full of red-headed anger, and Longbottom too terrified, to see that Severus had saved them.   
“You two can get out as well,” he ordered the Carrows. “First thing tomorrow, all three of us will take this sword and place it within the Lestrange vault at Gringotts, once I gain approval from the Dark Lord. There is no more secure place for an object that is obviously needed by Harry Potter, for those were his friends. I believe the redhead is actually his girlfriend, poor girl.”

Alecto smiled, and he thought how very out-of-place it looked on her pig-like face. 

Closing the door firmly behind them, he prepared to cast Reparo on the shards of broken glass, but Albus stopped him. 

“Wait, Severus!”

“What?”

“Open my portrait, pull on the right-hand side.”

Open his portrait? 

Curious, Severus tugged on the right side of the frame, and to his surprise it opened like a cupboard. Inside it there was but one thing. The sword of Gryffindor. Then … what did he hold in his hands?

Closing the frame and ensuring it was refastened securely, he raised a questioning eyebrow at Dumbledore. 

“Behind me, Severus, is the real sword of Gryffindor. The one you hold in your hand is an intricately clever fake.”

He was dumbfounded. Every time he thought he understood everything there was to know about Albus Dumbledore, the old poof shocked him yet again, even after death. 

“By all means, place the fake in the Lestrange vault. The real sword will stay here, for you will need it.”

“I shall?”

“Yes Severus. You shall. In fact, when the time is right, you shall personally deliver it.”

There was no answer to that. No chance to refuse or appeal the latest little mission that Albus wanted to send him on. 

Severus replaced the fake sword in the remains of the glass display case before casting Reparo to restore it and clear his office floor. Looking darkly at Albus, he turned on his heel and without another word stalked into his private chambers, that were attached to the headmasters’ office via a connecting door that opened only to him. 

He threw off his clothes using magic, needing to be naked inside the blissfully cool and soft envelope of his bedlinens. He cared not that it was the middle of the afternoon. Looking up at the ostentatiously red canopy, that he had not yet bothered to change to one more to his own Slytherin tastes, he allowed his thoughts to drift to her. He needed her, even if he could only find her in his memory.

It was solely in the utter privacy of his bed that he allowed himself to do this, to permit the little witch to enter his mind, to consume his brain, to swell his cock, to make his fingers twitch with yearning to touch her soft curves. 

All those months, Hermione Granger had been the only person who had stopped him from being entirely alone. She had enthralled his mind, satisfied the hunger in his eyes, and satiated a lust that he didn’t know had been buried within him all these years.   
It was sheer hell not only to be separated from her, but to not know how she felt about him, whether she hated him for his actions, or even just for keeping so much concealed from her. 

He should have told her more, he should have trusted her, but in truth, Severus had not wanted her to have the burden of all that knowledge inside her head. If the worst happened and Granger were to be captured, he did not know how her Occlumency would stand up, especially under the duress of a Cruciatus Curse. 

He couldn’t dwell on that possibility. 

Forcing himself to concentrate on the feel of her full tits, the curve of her spine, the touch of her lips … Merlin, her soft, seeking mouth on his! He slipped a hand under the covers and took hold of his hardening cock, intending to relieve some of his tension in the most age-old of manners. 

The memory of how her tight, wet cunt would feel as he pushed inside her, like a hot vice around his dick, squeezing its length and girth, had him groaning in anguish and arousal. 

Hermione, he moaned, pushing the covers back and wanking himself hard, wishing fervently it was her hand, or her mouth or her pussy that was on him. 

His cock began to pulse under his own grip, and he closed his eyes, conjuring a clear picture in his mind of Hermione straddling him, bouncing on her heels as she fucked him relentlessly. Her brown curls were surrounding her beautiful face like an angel’s halo, her eyes full of lust only for him. 

Oh, Hermione, my angel. 

Severus moaned loudly, and in desperation, as he jerked his cock hard one final time, bringing himself to orgasm and spurting his semen in silky puddles on his own bare chest as he slowed his strokes. 

He needed and wanted her more than anything, to find the answers he sought in her honest face. 

A single tear fell from each eye, trickled down the side of his temples, and into his unpleasant, greasy black hair.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

Hermione was standing in the rain outside the front of their tent, Harry was behind her in the door-flap of the entrance, and the scrubby forest floor where Ron had been standing until a split-second ago was in front of her. She had been trying to push herself between the two boys during their furious fight, which had been about to turn physical and had erupted after her and Harry had been enthusing over their discovery that they could use Gryffindor’s sword to destroy the Horcruxes. 

Caught up in conversing with Professor Black’s portrait and fizzing with ideas about how to get hold of the sword, neither of them had noticed a still-recovering Ron, the Horcrux locket around his neck, stagger from the bed grey-faced to confront them both. He had been furious, insinuating that there was something going on between herself and Harry, ranting about his family, and the fruitlessness of their search. 

Goaded by the dark powers of the malevolent locket he had been wearing all day, Ron had soon worked himself up into an ugly fury, shouting things at them both, but particularly Harry, that he would no doubt regret once he had regained control of his rage. He had stormed out of the tent after she had cast a shield charm to prevent them from ripping each other’s heads off, and unbelievably, he’d then Apparated away. 

Ron had left them. 

Tears fell freely from her eyes; tears of disappointment in Ron’s behaviour, tears of pity for Harry, and tears of frustration for herself as the sheer enormity and difficulty of their precarious situation came crashing down upon her shoulders. They had both wept, remaining holding one another in the doorway of the tent for quite some time. It had been so long since she had received physical comfort, and it made her yearn for Severus’ touch.

Ron had thought she was interested in Harry, as more than a friend, but he was so very wrong. 

She loved Harry, and would follow him to the ends of the earth if he needed her, but he was her friend. As she’d held him, it had only served to emphasise the difference between his boyish height and build, and Severus’ tall, powerful, manly frame. Harry’s hands were smaller, his touch lighter, his presence less imposing – Merlin, he even smelt wrong. 

Severus’ mystery and sheer emotional intensity took her breath away. He was a dichotomy of both light and dark in equal measure. Harry was the most straight-forward person she knew, he never confused her, nor enthralled her. He was just … Harry, and she loved him for it. 

They were both now effectively without families, two people alone who needed the other for survival. Hermione and Harry were each other’s life blood. 

-xxx-

After Ron’s departure, the days drifted into weeks, and weeks into months. They spent evenings poring over books, looking for clues, looking for any bloody idea as to what they should do next. Hermione had propped the stolen portrait up on a chair in the tent, trying to glean any bit of information they could from Black regarding the sword of Gryffindor. He hadn’t been a particularly reliable informer regarding the ancient relic, but their conversations had been peppered with details about Snape’s regime at the school. Phineas Nigellus was clearly a big fan of the first Slytherin headmaster since his own tenure. 

From pieced-together talks, they had managed to gather than Neville, Ginny and Luna were doing their best to keep the DA together and active, from the amount of times they had been in trouble and the restrictions that had been placed upon them. The trouble was, that Professor Black spent as much time quizzing them about their whereabouts, as they did trying to glean information from him. 

An ill-advised visit to Godric’s Hollow had found them in the graveyard of the wizarding enclave, scraping snow from headstones, looking for any useful information, but also to find the graves of Harry’s parents. It was not strictly relevant to the Horcrux hunt, but it had been desperately important to him that he find them. 

She had stood gazing upon the grave of Dumbledore’s mother Kendra, and sister Ariana, and it was so beautiful, whitened by the snow fall and occasionally lit with the flicker of coloured Christmas lights from the large tree in the village square that twinkled in sequence. 

“Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” 

Hermione inhaled sharply at the sincere simplicity of the words etched upon the Dumbledore family headstone, knowing exactly where her own heart was. She had left it in the cold, pale hands of the dark professor who had taken it from her, and she had given it willingly. 

In the freezing cold of Godric’s Hollow graveyard on Christmas Eve, Hermione finally admitted to herself that she loved him. She had fallen utterly in love with Professor Severus Snape, and more importantly, she still was. 

The troubled and complicated older wizard had her heart, and was therefore her treasure – the thing that was most valuable to her, more so than material possessions. The inscription on the gravestone was apt and fitting. 

After nearly getting themselves killed by Nagini, who had been placed by Voldemort inside the dead body of Bathilda Bagshot, Hermione had fought off the snake and returned a barely-conscious Harry to the tent, where, once he finally awoke from his fitful dreams, she’d had to explain that she’d broken his wand using a Blasting Curse that had rebounded everywhere. 

His anger at her, and his quiet grief for the precious holly wand was almost more than she could bear. When were they ever going to get anywhere? They couldn’t live like this indefinitely. She was scared. 

-xxx-

The months of pressure were weighing heavily on Snape’s shoulders. He sat alone in his office, in the chair behind the headmasters’ desk, head in hands, knowing he cut a pitiful figure before the assembled former Heads. How much longer could he go on? At what point would ‘the close’ begin?

How some of Potter’s friends had not managed to get themselves killed by the Carrows, he had no idea. 

Longbottom, Weasley, Finnegan, the Patils, even the stupid little Creevey boys, all seemed to act as if the rules of the school did not apply to them. No matter how many sanctions he imposed, how many punishments they received, their dedication to making his role as difficult as fucking possible was relentless. 

I am trying to protect you, you idiotic fools, he thought, worrying they would end up dead anyway due to their misplaced and foolish Gryffindor bravery. 

Miss Lovegood, the sole Ravenclaw amongst lions, had not returned to school after the Christmas holidays and Severus was concerned for her. Voldemort had lost patience with her father, Xenophilius Lovegood, over theories and allegations that the eclectic wizard regularly published in his alternative newspaper, The Quibbler. No doubt he would find out soon enough what had happened to the girl. 

“Headmaster!”

Phineas came rushing into his frame, breathless with excitement and his oil-painted eyes shining with glee. 

“Headmaster! They are camping in the Forest of Dean! I heard the Granger girl mention the location as she opened her bag.”

Severus jerked his head upwards at the mention of her name. 

“Excellent, Phineas!” replied Albus, loudly and cheerfully. 

Severus’ heart sank as he heard the familiar voice call across the room, for Dumbledore’s portrait was awake and alert at Black’s words. 

“Severus, my boy, now is the time,” he said, quickly. “Open my portrait and collect the sword. Do not forget that it must be taken under conditions of need and valour. Harry needs the sword urgently, so all that falls to you is to arrange that it is taken under the condition …”

“Yes, yes, yes, I know, Albus. You have been drilling me in this instruction for months,” Severus interrupted, curtly, approaching the portrait and pulling at the right-hand side, which swung open to reveal Gryffindor’s sword. The real one. 

“Should I suppose that you are still not intending to enlighten me as to why Potter needs this item so very urgently?”

Snape threw a voluminous travelling cloak around himself, concealing the sword beneath it. 

Albus pretended to think for a moment. 

“No, I don’t think so. Harry will know what to do with it. Now, Severus, make very sure that you are not seen, for …”

“At the very least, give me some credit for having a modicum of discretion, old man. I have a plan.”

Shooting Dumbledore’s portrait a withering glare, Severus swept his cloak around him and Apparated directly from the office into the Forest of Dean. Now all he had to do was find or conjure a suitable forest pool in which to freeze the sword, for he intended to make it visible but hard to reach. 

Severus was forced to quickly Disillusion himself as the heavy crunch of footfall stomped towards him. Ronald Weasley! And the boy was holding out Dumbledore’s Deluminator in front of his face as if it were a compass. If Phineas’ information had been correct, Weasley had left their company months ago following a furious argument between the two boys. Was he attempting to return, tail between his legs? 

Silently Apparating to a different part of the Gloucestershire forest, Severus continued to search for signs that an area had known magic. Granger’s protective enchantments were likely to be perfectly complete, he would have to rely on his heightened sense of her magical signature to find their hiding place. He had not been this close to her for many months, and suddenly, he knew what he would do, what he had to do. 

He had to know. 

-xxx-

“Just know this, Hermione ... we are about to enter uncertain times. You will not know with whom you can place your trust. What you need to remember, and this is very important, is that despite appearances, there is a hope that is waiting for you in the dark. Do not forget that.”

During their months on the run, moving their tent from site to site, suffering hunger, despair, anxiety and boredom, she had often returned to those words that had been amongst the last that Professor Snape had said to her, wondering what he had meant, what he was trying to tell her. 

She shifted on her bunk in the tent, feeling the cold midnight air waft the door-flap, turning over not to see Harry entering from his position keeping watch outside, but Severus, now Headmaster Snape, clad head to toe in black, his pale face with a red glow, as if he had been running. She shot up out of the bed in fear, immediately pulling her wand and pointing it at his chest, glad she was sleeping in her clothes and ready to run. 

“Lower your wand … Granger.”

He fixed his commanding black eyes upon her, as if he could make her obey him just by glaring as he used to do from the front of the classroom. 

“Why should I?”

Her hand trembled, and not just from fear. 

“Because if you were going to kill me, you would have already done it.”

“How did you get in here?”

“I taught you all these protective enchantments, therefore I know how to find a chink in their armour to allow me entrance.”

“Where’s Harry? What have you done to him?”

“I have done nothing to Mr Potter apart from leave the Sword of Gryffindor deep in this forest where he will find it. I believe you require it?”

“A hope that is waiting for you in the dark,” she murmured.

He took a step towards her, putting his long, thin fingers on the end of her wand and gently directing the business end away from his chest. 

“You remembered.” 

They stood a mere foot away from each other, but she was no longer afraid. Her heart was pounding so hard on the inside of her chest that he surely must be able to hear it. 

“Were you … are you, still on our side?” she asked, tentatively.

He heaved a deep, resigned sigh. 

“Having trained you in Occlumency myself, I am confident that you alone can keep my cover, although it still worries me to give you this information. But my wish for you to understand me is greater than my fears. Therefore I confirm that I have never left the side of the Light. I remain loyal to Albus Dumbledore.”

“I knew it,” she breathed, “but why did you ...?”

“Why did I kill him?”

She nodded, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer, but she had to know. 

“The headmaster was dying, slowly and painfully, Miss Granger. You remember his blackened hand? He had been afflicted by dark curse that was devouring him from the inside out. He devised a way to bring about a speedy, painless death, at the same time ensuring that my supposed loyalty would never again be doubted. His plan was absolute, meaning that I would be given Headship of the school after his death, to avoid it falling under the control of the Dark Lord.”

It didn’t even occur to her to disbelieve him. The horror of the position that Dumbledore had left Severus to fill suddenly became dreadfully, awfully, horrendously clear to her. 

“You’re protecting the whole school, aren’t you? That’s what you’re doing?”

“I tread a delicate path.” 

It was all the response he was willing to give. 

“Will you be alright?” 

“How curious, to have somebody enquire after my welfare,” he replied, his famously neutral face betraying a glimmer of pain, of regret. 

“You cursed off George’s ear.”

“Mr Weasley? I had no idea, since he was Polyjuiced as Potter at the time. The curse was aimed at a Death Eater, but in the crush of broomsticks it fell in the wrong place. Did he make a full recovery?”

“He did. Apart from his missing ear, he’s fine. I think he’s quite proud of it, really. Although, he and Fred dislike the fact that everyone can tell them apart now.”

Severus nodded gravely, and took a deep breath, as if unwilling to release the next sentence. 

“My only concern was that I had not hurt you.”

“All present and correct,” she replied, pulling back her hair to reveal both her ears. 

“With whom were you partnered that night? I know you well enough to presume that you would have been one of the seven Potters.”

“I was with Kingsley, on one of the thestrals.”

“Shacklebolt. He was a good protector?”

“He was. We escaped the attackers quite quickly, same as Bill and Fleur who travelled in the same way as us, on the other thestral. I think it helped that we rode together, rather than the pairs who were on two separate broomsticks.”

He nodded, and took a small step closer to her. 

“Your parents. They are hidden?”

“More completely that you could possibly imagine, as instructed … Sir.”

He stepped forward again. 

“You are well?”

“A bit hungry, tired and scared, but yes, I’m okay.”

His final step brought him as close to her as it was possible to be without any part of their bodies actually touching. 

“Hermione,” he breathed, almost painfully. 

The girl reached out to him in exactly the same way as she’d done for their first kiss, over a year ago in a deserted corridor, after a horror of a Christmas party. 

Taking hold of his cold hands, she placed them on either side of her waist, all the while looking up at him, watching his fathomless eyes begin to come to life, the flicker of her bluebell flames that were set around the tent reflecting off the jet-black surface and making it appear as if the fire was right there, in the heat of his gaze. 

Perhaps it was. 

Hermione slid her hands slowly up his arms until she reached his shoulders, stroking across them towards his neck, caressing the sides of the small portion of exposed skin until she could cup the sides of his head. 

Turning his face to the side, she drew him towards her, neither of their eyes willing to close. Their lips met with the lightest touch, merely bumping together before moving back. They bumped again. And again. 

Hermione opened her mouth a little, and he did the same. The next time their lips touched, she allowed her tongue to graze against his upper lip. He groaned in pleasure, extending his own tongue to brush against hers without their lips touching, and the side of his nose stroked the tip of hers. It was the most delicious tease of a kiss; erotic, enticing, but still non-committal. 

With a growl, he clamped one arm around her back and brought the other one up to her shoulders, pushing his hand into her hair and firmly gripping the back of her head as he fastened his mouth on hers, his tongue forcing her lips open and sweeping into her mouth like a tidal wave. 

They rolled their tongues together, and the sheer familiarity of the sweet taste of him brought tears of emotion to her eyes. Hermione tightened her grip on the trembling wizard, and felt him do the same in return, as if they were trying to hold themselves so close that they would actually merge into one body. 

Her head spun, feeling like she never wanted to break the connection they had forged between them right at that moment. Sliding her hands into his hair, she grasped little fistfuls of it and heard the pleasured groan rumble up from his throat and into her mouth. Pressed so tightly against him, she could feel the solid hardness of his erection pressing on her stomach, through their clothes, as well as the tremor of his entire body as he fought to control himself. 

Snape pulled back from her, ever so slightly. 

“I did not come here for sex, Hermione.”

“I know,” she breathed, her face flushed and aroused. 

“I came here because I had to know,” he growled, pressing a hard kiss to her swollen lips, “because I had to know if you despised me.”

She silenced him by pulling his head back down to resume their kissing, showing him exactly how much she did not despise him. He allowed it, and she felt the few hot tears that spilled from his eyes and onto her own cheeks, sliding down between their conjoined lips and leaving a wet and salty taste. 

“Do we have time?” she asked him, her body making all the decisions at that moment. 

“We have time, if I am truly what you desire.”

She let go of him, taking a step back and looking him up and down, his erection clearly visible even through the constricted tailoring of his clothing. Flicking her wand from her sleeve, she cast Divesto upon herself and allowed every stitch of her clothing to fall to the floor of the tent.

“I desire you, Severus,” she replied, her naked skin glowing radiantly in the soft light of the bluebell flames, her eyes alight with passion. 

For him. 

If he was lost to her before, he had now been cast into the stormy sea of oblivion, never to return from the burning depth of her gaze, utterly under her power, a willing slave to her every desire, her slightest whim. He would fulfil them. 

Without shifting his eyes, he cast his own Divesto, magically stripping himself naked for her perusal. He saw her wince at the new wounds and scars in various stages of healing that he had been gifted with since they were last intimate. He used his wand to expand the single bed she had been sleeping on when he arrived, before turning and beckoning her to approach. 

Placing a single kiss on her lips, he then laid her down on the pillows, soaking up the sight of her angel face surrounded by its halo of curls spilling around her, and running his greedy eyes down her lithe, naked body. She reached her arms up to him, and his heart lurched at her welcoming acceptance. He had been so long without tenderness, without touch. Almost all his life, in fact, apart from the time he had spent with Hermione. 

He placed himself over her immediately, settling between her legs that she had opened to receive him. She grasped the tops of his bare arms, squeezing the taut muscles there, and he ground his erection against her wetness, looking down his long nose at the willing witch beneath him. He was stupidly hard, already his cock was weeping at the tip, desperate to spill itself inside her. 

Severus lowered himself so that their chests were touching, brushing his lips against hers to request entry before opening her mouth with his own and coiling his sharp tongue around her own soft, sweet one. He slid a hand up to grasp one of her breasts, which were softer and fuller than he could possibly have remembered. She had moaned into his mouth at the intimate touch, and opened her legs wider, rubbing her wet pussy along his cock, which was struggling to retain its control. 

“Hermione, I need to …”

“I need you to. Do it now, please?”

He would do it now. 

Slipping his hand between them he guided the blunt head of his dick inside her, his stomach lurching at the first sensation of being back between her legs. 

He thrust; a desperate, urgent shove that filled her completely, and she threw her head back with the force of his entrance. 

“Oh!”

“Again?” he asked, holding himself in position as his arms shook, balls-deep in this glorious witch. 

“Again, Severus. And again. Oh, please.”

He drew almost fully out, before thrusting again, and this time he did not stop, beginning a slow but devastating pace, stroking himself in and out of her wet, tight cunt. He kissed her, he fondled her breasts, he licked and sucked her neck, he reached down and flicked her clitoris with his finger as he fucked her. He could not decide what to do first, so he availed himself of every inch of her that he could. 

Feeling her hips begin to thrust upwards to meet his own, he leaned over her and supported himself on his forearms that were either side of her head, rolling his hips against her as he fucked them higher and higher. His long raven hair swung freely as he toiled, and she pushed it back, threading her fingers roughly through the thin strands. 

Severus felt as if his balls were going to burst with the pressure, and began to piston into her, his approaching climax about throw him off the rails. He angled his hips so that his large cock bumped against her pleasure centre, irritating it, provoking her orgasm that he knew would not be long. 

Hearing her little screams and feeling her tight walls clamp down upon his cock was all he needed, and he released his seed with a shout of relief, spurting inside her twice, three times, four, maybe even more, so much he had for her. His orgasm was so intense that he felt the tears spring from his eyes again, desperate emotion spilling unbidden from his eyes and his mouth.

“I love you,” he gasped, struggling for air. “I love you so completely, Hermione. Forgive me. Please, forgive me.”

His penis slipped out of her, and he fell to the side but was still pressed against her body, as even expanded, the bed was not large. His arms and legs were curled possessively around her and she was looking up at the roof of the tent, stroking the sparse black hairs on his forearm. The simple gesture was almost too tender for him to bear. 

They both knew he would soon have to go. It was time for them both to return to their realities. 

“I don’t know what to say now,” she admitted. “Neither of us have a bloody clue what is going to happen next.”

“I agree that there is no telling how events will unfold,” he replied, sighing deeply. 

Hermione propped herself up on her elbow so that she was looking down upon him. 

“In case you weren’t sure, I do love you, in return. You … you have my heart in your hands. I will fight for you, Severus.”

“It is a fanciful notion, Hermione. I am not a wizard to be trusted with anyone’s heart. I also think that you have enough to be fighting for at present.”

He reluctantly swung his legs off the bed before she could reply, taking her hand and gently pulling her up to stand with him. Swirling his wand around them both, he carefully reclothed them both exactly as they had been when he’d first entered the tent. 

“I must leave now. If my calculations were correct, Potter will soon return with the sword. He will also return with Weasley.”

“Ron? But how ...?”

“No doubt Weasley will provide all the details regarding his petulant leave of absence.”

He paused, as if unsure whether to continue speaking. 

“About the ginger dunderhead, Hermione. Whatever you decide to do, make sure it makes you happy. Not just him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He desires you.”

“That doesn’t mean I feel the same way. Did you not hear me? It is you that I love.”

“I am not the right wizard for you, Granger. I will hurt you.”

“You would never hurt me.”

“Not deliberately, but nonetheless, I shall no doubt cause you pain and anguish, even further than I already have done, I am certain of it. Now, as much as I do not wish to, I really must go. I am sorry.”

“Let me come with you,” she begged, suddenly desperate not to let him out of her sight, as she did not know when she would see him again, and under what circumstances. 

Snape smiled his crooked, lop-sided smile that curled only one of his cheeks, and cupped her cheek with his hand, looking at her with longing in his eyes, before placing a chaste but lingering kiss upon her lips. 

“It is too cold outside, for angels to fly. Stay here in the warm, for your friends will soon return. Complete your mission, I have no doubt that you will be successful.”

He turned and strode from the tent without another word, and as she hastened to the door-flap of the tent to follow him, she heard a crack of Apparition as he left the safety of her protective enchantments. 

In the distance, she could see Harry walking towards her, holding a large object, the silver and ruby-red of the sword of Gryffindor glinting through the trees, in the clear beam of the moonlight. He was not alone; for just as Severus had said, Ron was by his side. 

Hermione walked back inside the tent, lying in wait, and as soon as the two young wizards entered the tent, she took aim, and punched the red-headed one full in the face.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A babble of excitement spread through the Snatchers, quickly becoming a delighted roar as they poked and prodded at Harry’s scar, realising that they had in fact captured Harry Potter and his companions.

One word. 

That was all it had taken to bring the safety of Hermione’s protective enchantments crashing down. Harry had carelessly let Voldemort’s name fall from his lips, thus breaking the Taboo, and now their tent was surrounded by a dozen Snatchers, intent on capturing them for the bounty of Galleons upon their heads. 

Their reward would be a great deal less, and hopefully not worth their while if they were not to discover exactly whom they had in their clutches. Undesirable Number One, a pureblood wizard who was not at school under false pretences, and an unregistered Mudblood.

She fired a Stinging Jinx at Harry, hitting him full in the face, and he staggered backwards with the force it had hit him with. There was no time to do anything else, Ron’s distinctive red hair would have been her next target, but the Snatchers had already invaded the tent and were dragging the three of them outside.

As she saw Harry’s face swell from the jinx, his features distorted, she knew it had been the right choice. Harry was the most distinctive-looking of the three of them, and his lightning scar was now stretched so widely across his forehead it was almost undetectable. 

The Snatchers pulled them up to stand straight, scrutinising their faces.

It seemed the three of them were now lurching from one precarious situation to the next, with increasingly regularity, the last being their recent visit to Xenophilius Lovegood in Ottery-St-Catchpole that had ended in disaster, her own quick thinking being the only thing that had saved them from the Death Eaters that Lovegood had summoned, trying to exchange their heads for that of his captured daughter.

Luna had been taken from the Hogwarts Express on her return to school following the Christmas holidays, Xenophilius had told them, and was still missing after all these months. 

There was a series of sickening thuds of knuckles against flesh as Ron shouted at the Snatchers for dragging her so roughly, and received a flurry of punches as punishment. Hermione screamed at them to stop, and was silenced by a huge, hairy man grabbing a handful of her long hair and yanking her head back, forcing her to look at his face. She knew who this foul creature was. Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who had bitten Lupin and Bill, and notorious for his blood lust. 

Greyback ran a meaty hand down her face and neck, pushing his filthy fingers into the top of her jumper, feeling for the curve of her breast. She was revolted, and nauseated bile rose up in the back of her throat. 

“Delicious little girl … what a treat … I do enjoy the softness of their skin,” he salivated, drool dripping from the corners of his mouth, where she could see sharp, pointed teeth. 

Hermione shook with fear, but forced herself to remain composed and calm, despite Greyback’s lewd pawing. 

Harry and Ron lied to the Snatchers about their identities, and she wasn’t sure whether they were convincing enough, as their captors began to search lists of the wanted; witches and wizards who had so far evaded the required ‘registration’. Hermione had no doubt that her own name would be on it, as the Muggle-born best friend of Harry Potter, her name was probably first. 

Greyback was still painfully holding her hair as he rasped at Ron, who had given his name as Barny Weasley. 

“So, you’re related to blood traitors even if you’re not a Mudblood. And lastly, your pretty little friend …?”

The werewolf pushed his hand fully inside the cup of her bra, breathing heavily into her ear as he searched for her nipple, pinching it hard enough to make her yelp. Hermione struggled, but he was too strong and too large to be anything other than an immovable object wrapped solidly around her. She would not cry, she would not. 

“Easy, Greyback, settle down,” said Scabior, over the jeering of the other Snatchers who were laughing as he violated her. “First things first, eh?”

Ron was furious and distraught, desperately trying to free himself in an attempt to rescue her from Greyback’s clutches. He earned himself another round of pummelling from the Snatchers who were holding him, dark bruises beginning to appear on his pale, freckled face. 

“Oh, I’m not going to bite her just yet. A tasty one like this? I’ll play with my food first.”

Fenrir shifted his hand around inside her bra, trying to bounce her breast upon his hairy fingers as the feral Snatchers jeered cruelly. He clearly intended to humiliate her. 

“Who are you, pretty girl?”

“Penelope Clearwater, half-blood,” she replied, attempting to keep the quaver of fear out of her voice. 

“I’ll be checking, beautiful.”

Greyback released her with a shove, and she sagged in relief. Another two Snatchers took hold of her arms as the werewolf turned his attention back to Harry, but at least they were keeping their filthy hands to themselves. Fenrir quizzed Harry relentlessly, who was thinking quite well on his feet as he assumed the persona of Vernon Dudley, drop-out Slytherin student, whose father worked for the Ministry. 

She felt sick as one of the Snatchers came out of the tent, where they had been searching, rifling through their belongings, holding the sword of Gryffindor aloft. Thank goodness her beaded bag with the undetectable extension charm was being worn across her body as it always was, looking to all intents and purposes like a tiny decorative accessory, rather than a giant cupboard containing almost everything they owned. 

The sword, not the sword. 

Why had Harry been holding it just at that moment? She couldn’t even remember now. Why wasn’t it safe in her bag as it usually always was?

Scabior, who looked as if he had once been a handsome wizard, but now looked jaded and had unkempt hair, grubby clothing and an untrustworthy look in his eye, was perched nonchalantly upon a large rock, idly flicking through the Daily Prophet. Clearly, he felt that he was in charge of this little operation, thus giving him time to read the newspaper as his victims were trussed up by the dullards doing his bidding. 

“Oi, ‘ang on a minute, Greyback!”

He interrupted the werewolf, who up until that point had been buying Harry’s story about being the son of an insignificant Ministry worker, and was debating whether to return Harry to his father. Scabior stood up, brandishing the tattered copy of the Prophet. She tried to peek at the front pages. 

“Look at this photograph. ‘Ermione Granger, the Mudblood who is known to be travelling with ‘Arry Potter.”

Greyback gave the newspaper that Scabior was holding out a cursory look before crouching down in front of her, so close that she could smell the aroma of fetid meat on his breath. 

“You know what, little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you.”

“It isn’t! It isn’t me!”

Her voice came out as a terrified squeak, making her look as guilty as hell. A babble of excitement spread through the Snatchers, quickly becoming a delighted roar as they poked and prodded at Harry’s scar, realising that they had in fact captured Harry Potter and his companions. 

“I say that’s Potter!” Greyback screamed, “Him, plus his wand, that’s two thousand Galleons right there! It’s all for me, and with any luck, I’ll get the girl thrown in.”

The filthy wolf smirked right into her face in a disgusting manner, pushing his hand between her legs, thankfully over her jeans, and groping her lasciviously. 

“Oh yes, Granger,” he leered, “I’ll be having this hot little cunt, and no mistake.”

Hermione wanted to vomit, right in his face, but utter terror prevented her from doing so. The feel of his large fingers fondling her roughly between her legs was nauseating, but she made no move to fight him off, keeping her composure and remaining impassive and unmoved by his revolting actions. 

Both Harry and Ron protested loudly, and were beaten to the floor in return. She winced with every kick and punch she heard land on her friends’ bodies. 

“You need to warm up, sweetheart,” Greyback warned. “I’ll be having you whether you’re willing or not.”

-xxx-

Harry stared unblinking into the eyes of Draco Malfoy as his parents forced their son to confirm the identity of their captives. Hermione saw desperation in the face of both. 

Draco was non-committal in his answers, as for reasons best known to himself, he appeared reluctant to condemn them, to be the one who confirmed without question that the prisoners were definitely Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. Why would Draco be trying to protect them? Was he a prisoner too, just as much as they were?

Lucius and Narcissa became more and more desperate to force a confession from their son, until they were interrupted by Bellatrix Lestrange, who threw open the door of the room and walked towards them, her hard-soled boots marking every hard step across the floor. 

“Of course it is them,” she spat, dismissively. “Look at the three of them. If it isn’t Potter, the Mudblood and the Weasley blood traitor then they would all be in school. Don’t be idiots!”

“Bella, Draco has not yet confirmed …”

“Oh, shut your mouth, Lucius. Not everyone thinks the world begins and ends with Draco Malfoy. Open your eyes, you impotent excuse for a wizard!”

The incandescent look that Lucius shot his sister-in-law as she jeered at him would have cowed the bravest of witches, but Bellatrix Lestrange was in a class of insanity all by herself. Her mad eyes suddenly widened in horror as she caught sight of the item that one of the Snatchers was holding. 

“The sword of Gryffindor!” she exclaimed, stalking over and wrenching the heavy metal weapon from the hands of the disgruntled Snatcher, who made little or no effort to try and retain it. 

“Where did you find this?” she demanded, hysterically. 

“It was in their tent,” Greyback replied, keeping a firm hold on Hermione. “These three had it. What of it?”

“What of it?”

A look of deranged anger passed over her face, her animated eyes almost popping out of her head.

“What of it? Snape personally placed this in my vault in Gringotts. How did you get it?”

Of course, none of them said a word. 

Letting loose with a cry of anger, Bellatrix stepped up to Harry, grabbing his swollen chin with her black-fingernailed hands and forcing him to meet her mad, staring eyes. 

She was performing Legilimency on him. 

Fear shook Hermione to the core as she realised that for the first time, her Occlumency skills were about to be called into play. She had one chance, and one only, to conceal from this insane, bloodthirsty Death Eater the fact that Severus had delivered the sword of Gryffindor directly to them. This had been why he did not want her to know his true loyalties! But his love for her had been greater than his fear of being exposed. Oh, bloody fucking Merlin, his life was now in her hands. Hermione forced herself to breathe deeply, to find the transient part of her mind that enabled her to lock away her feelings and memories. 

Closing doors, blocking entrances – her mind worked quickly and meticulously as Bellatrix moved from Harry to Ron, forcing herself into his eyes and searching his mind. Fortunately, all either boy knew about the sword was the truth, that they had found it in the bottom of a frozen pond in the forest, and Harry had nearly killed himself trying to retrieve it. 

Hermione kept the memory of them telling her how they had retrieved it when they returned to the tent, before inserting false details that they had thought it would be good for chopping wood whilst they were camping. 

Bellatrix was moving quickly, and had obviously pulled out of their minds prior to watching them smash the locket Horcrux with the sword, otherwise she might have had a few more questions to ask them. That was one relief, at least. 

As she stood in front of Hermione and took hold of her chin, Greyback pulled her shoulders back, quite unnecessarily, and moved in closer behind her, meaning she could feel the revolting stab of his huge, beastly erection in the small of her back. 

Bellatrix roughly seized her chin, and Hermione met her eyes with defiance, trying to keep her breathing even, trying to keep her defences closed and her false memory projected. She felt the pressure of the witch probing into her mind, not gently and tentatively as Severus had done, but viciously and without care towards anything she may trample underfoot. 

She could feel Bellatrix prodding hard against the white mist that covered her memories, giving her only the false memory, over and over again. Bellatrix tried particularly hard to view the place where she had hidden her thoughts and feelings about Severus, there must be a ‘tell’ somewhere that suggested these were important enough to hide. Damn. 

At length, she pulled out of Hermione’s mind with a sharp yank, hard enough to make her scream out in pain. 

“This bitch is Occluding me! Who taught you that, Mudblood? Why would you, of all people, have such a particular skill?” 

When Hermione did not reply, Bellatrix slapped her hard across the face. Ron attempted to lunge towards her but was restrained by the Snatchers holding him. 

“Easy, Bella,” grunted Fenrir Greyback. “Don’t mess up my little treat. I want to play with her after you’d finished.”

He encircled her in his massive arms, thick with hair, grabbing a breast in each one and fondling them roughly, a wicked leer upon his face, and Hermione struggled away from him in disgust. 

Bellatrix ordered Draco to banish the rest of the Snatchers from the grounds, and Greyback to take Harry, Ron and Hermione to the cellar and imprison them there. There was much disgruntled muttering, for the Snatchers had been denied their rewards, but no one wished to risk being on the wrong end of her merciless wand. 

Greyback reluctantly ceased mauling Hermione’s breasts and began to push the three of them forward. 

“Wait! All except … except for the Mudblood.”

He gave a grunt of pleasure, and wiped away the drool that had formed around his mouth, grabbing Hermione around the neck and shoving her over to Bellatrix, who seized tight hold of her hair and dragged her into the middle of the room, pulling out a short silver dagger from under her robes. 

Greyback used his wand to project an invisible and irresistible force to propel Harry and Ron towards the door that must lead down to the cellar. Their shouts and struggles were quite useless. 

“You’ll let me have a bite of her when you’ve finished, Bellatrix?”

“If she survives questioning, you can have her to do as you wish, Greyback, you filthy pervert.”

As they left the room, she was pulled to the floor by her hair, held there as Bellatrix loomed over her, hissing in her face through her rotten teeth.

“I want your secrets, Mudblood. I want to know why you Occlude me, I want to know who taught you, and I want to know why you have the sword of Gryffindor when it should be in my vault at Gringotts. Have you been in there? What else have you taken?”  
Flecks of foul-smelling spittle hit Hermione’s face as Bellatrix became wilder in her accusations. 

“I haven’t been anywhere near your vault,” she replied, “and the sword is a fake, it must be, since you state that the original is at Gringotts.”

“Maybe a little taste of the Cruciatus will loosen your lying tongue,” Bella whispered, threateningly. 

The loud thump of a heavy metal door closing with great force could be heard from the floor below. Greyback must have shut the boys in the cellar as instructed. 

Crucio.

The pain was instant and unbearable. Hermione screamed at the top of her lungs, unable to do anything else but try and scream away this awful, unrelenting, all-consuming agony. 

It stopped as quickly as it had begun. She heard Ron bellowing her name from the cellar below, and Greyback had re-entered the room, standing over her with a salacious smirk upon his face. 

“Anything to tell me, Mudblood?” Bellatrix asked, in a mock-innocent voice. 

“I’ve told you everything I know!”

“Lies, little girl. I have been inside your mind, and you have much to hide, don’t you sweetheart?”

A single tear dropped from Hermione’s eye. She would protect Severus, no matter what the cost to herself, as he was protecting everyone else. 

“Never,” she whispered. 

“You don’t want a nice chat, girl-to-girl? No? Oh well, better do it my way then.”

Crucio. 

This time the curse was held for longer, and she felt her spine begin to bend backwards, the agony worse than any pain she had ever experienced in her life. She screamed until her throat could take no more, until finally, the Cruciatus was released. 

“Dirty Mudblood. You’ve pissed yourself all over my sister’s floor. I’ll have to let Greyback here clean you up.”

Before the “No!” had passed her lips, Greyback was on his knees and yanking her legs apart, disgustingly and enthusiastically slurping up her urine of pain and terror from the wooden floor, alternating between that and sucking hard at the crotch of her jeans, stabbing his large, heavy tongue against her genitals, trying to feel them. 

Bellatrix knelt by her head and grabbed her hair, turning her face. With the brute force the evil witch used to twist her neck, Hermione couldn’t help but throw up a little on her leg. Bella slapped her across the face. 

“Scum! How dare you vomit on me? Mudblood filth.”

She tightened her hold on Hermione’s hair and dragged her face up close to her own, leaving Greyback to keep her legs spread open as he continued to suck upon the urine-soaked crotch of her jeans. If there was ever a moment she had wished for death, it was this. 

“How did you get into my vault?” Bellatrix screamed in her face. “What else did you take?”

“We’ve not been anywhere near your vault, you mad bitch!” she screamed back, her tears now flowing freely at the sheer pain and humiliation. 

Shoving the werewolf out of the way, Bella continued to rain down vicious hexes, stopping to interrogate her, and then resuming her torture. Hermione’s throat burned from screaming as much as her body burned in pain. 

The last thing she remembered clearly was Bellatrix using her Dark Mark to summon Voldemort, a sharp dagger being held to her neck, and the crash of something heavy and made of glass falling on top of her. 

-xxx-

Summoned to the Death Eater meeting at Malfoy Manor, Severus was sickened by the punishments being rent upon Bellatrix, Lucius and Draco, for their crime of losing Harry Potter and his friends when they’d had them trapped at their mercy. His fury was a sight to behold, and Severus was fervently glad that he was not the focus of the Dark Lord’s rage that evening. 

Favouritism counted for nothing as Bella was punished the most severely for orchestrating the whole debacle, Lucius branded as useless for not standing up and taking control, and Draco for being unable to recognise Harry Potter staring him in the face. 

Severus was confused by that bit. There was no way that Draco would not have recognised Potter, Weasley and Granger. And he was now taking the punishment for not doing so. Why would the boy simply have not turned them in? Was it a demonstration that he held some feeling of honour, deep inside? 

Narcissa and Greyback had been spared punishment since they were not branded with the Dark Mark, but both had been severely reprimanded for their perceived failures. Worst of all had been Greyback’s bleating about how Hermione had been ‘promised’ to him for his role in bringing Potter and his accomplices to the Manor, and Bella had reported how Greyback had been sexually molesting the girl, whilst she had interrogated her, blaming him for her own failures. 

If Severus found himself alone with Fenrir Greyback in the future, he swore that he would separate the wolf’s body from his cock for daring to touch his Hermione. 

In truth, Bellatrix should have blamed Hermione, whose outstanding bravery had allowed her to remain control of her Occlumency shield, even during bouts of Cruciatus and other painful hexes. Her ability to keep her mind closed to intrusion had saved his own skin, there was no doubt about that. 

If Bella had been able to penetrate her mind and seen her memories of him, or of their private moments together … he would be down on that floor on the receiving end of Voldemort’s fury, probably worse. 

At the close of the meeting, Snape was permitted to return to the school and take Draco with him, as the Easter holidays were drawing to a close, whilst all other Death Eaters involved in the escape were confined to Malfoy Manor, forbidden to leave without the Dark Lord’s express permission. Lucius was now a prisoner in his own home alongside his deranged sister-in-law. 

Voldemort had stationed the Snatchers in Hogsmeade, convinced that it would be Harry Potter’s next stop, and he instructed them to capture the trio as soon as they were in sight. 

Scabior and Greyback had set Caterwauling charms in Hogsmeade, set to be triggered by any movement out of doors after the curfew they had imposed upon the village. They spent most of their time drinking in the Three Broomsticks, scaring the other patrons away, much to Madam Rosmerta’s chagrin. 

If Voldemort was correct, then his presumption that Potter would at some point arrive in Hogsmeade surely meant that he would attempt to get inside the school. But when, and for what purpose? Would it be at this point that he would have to face the boy and convey the information that Albus had instructed him to? 

Dumbledore had told him that when the time came for Potter to be told everything; that he held a piece of Voldemort’s soul inside him that must be eviscerated before the Dark Lord could be defeated, Harry would have fulfilled the secret tasks that he had been set, meaning that after the boy’s death then Voldemort himself could finally be killed. 

Severus was confused, frightened and full of regret. He wanted nothing more than to find Hermione and run away with her, somewhere they could never be found. But neither of them would do that, and he would not desert the school nor leave without her. He was not a coward. He would keep every word of the vow he had made, through to the close. 

Severus could only wait – wait in the gilded prison of his office for Potter’s next move. 

-xxx-

Hermione was sitting on Tinworth Beach looking out over the grey-blue sea with Luna seated beside her in the sand. They had rescued Luna from Malfoy Manor alongside Mr Ollivander and a Gringotts goblin, as Harry and Ron had found them all being kept prisoner in the cellar. Behind them was Shell Cottage, the Secret-Kept home of Bill and Fleur Weasley, where Dobby had brought them after his daring mission to save Harry Potter that the small elf had paid for with his life. 

There was an all-pervading sense of grief in the house, as Ollivander’s life teetered on the brink, the disagreeable goblin was healed, and Hermione recuperated from the torture she had received at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. 

She still did not feel quite herself, she was so tired and her whole body ached, but supposed that was a result of the Cruciatus Curse which had been cast upon her twice. Thank Merlin it had not been longer. She finally understood what Neville’s parents had been through, to suffer Crucio until it had driven them irreversibly and permanently insane. 

How the hell had Severus coped all these years? If she felt as bad as this after her sole experience, she wondered how the man was even still standing, let alone walking the audacious path that he was. She missed him so much that it hurt her heart. If only … if only. 

If only, what? She had no idea. If only there was no war? It had been their joint sense of desperation that had led them to one another. 

“I am going to return to Hogwarts,” Luna announced, suddenly, into the companionable silence between them. 

Hermione turned to face the delicate blonde witch. 

“Luna, are you sure? Hogwarts, well, it isn’t the same place you left.”

“I’m not the same, either,” she replied sagely, “and besides, Professor Snape won’t allow any real harm to come to me. We are safe as long as he is there.”

“He protects you? That’s not what we’ve heard, since we’ve been travelling.”

“Oh no, he does. He tries to pretend he isn’t, I think because those Carrows are watching him, but he always stops punishments before they get really bad, and he is stern, but fair.”

“He is?”

Hermione was genuinely astonished at how Luna viewed Severus. 

“Yes. But he always seems sad. Mournful, even. His eyes, they give nothing away. They are like a closed window. It’s very difficult to know what he’s thinking.”

“But yet you still trust him?”

“I do. I don’t think anyone else does. But no one listens to me.”

The small witch turned away from Hermione and continued to thread shells onto a string, making herself a necklace, as if she hadn’t spent the last four months being tortured and kept in a cellar. Luna really was a remarkable human. People should listen to her more. She was very insightful and spoke a great deal of sense, if you ignored the Nargles, Wrackspurts and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.

-xxx-

On the second day of May, a week after the students had returned to Hogwarts after the Easter holidays, Snape unrolled his copy of the Daily Prophet that was shrieking the headline that the previous day; Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger had broken into Gringotts bank, stolen items from a private vault, and escaped on the back of a dragon, causing thousands of Galleons-worth of damage. 

Severus was half-proud and half-terrified. 

He suddenly had the strangest feeling that it was going to be an awfully long day.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is all in your hands now, Severus. Yours and Harry’s. I have great faith in the both of you. Now, do what you must do.”

Severus stood straight and upright as he looked from the parapet around the uppermost floor of his office, black eyes casting over the empty courtyard that lay spread before him. The Scottish highlands were vast and rolling beyond it, turning black in the twilight. He could not hear a sound, yet he knew they were here. Not only had he heard the wail of the Caterwauling charm that had been cast upon Hogsmeade village, but he had also seen them. 

He turned back to the large, oblong table behind him that was surrounded by Dumbledore’s astronomy paraphernalia that he had not yet seen fit to remove. Sweeping his hand slowly above the table top and feeling the complicated magic tingle in his fingertips, the surface rippled and the map came into view. 

He had no idea how they’d been permitted to see it, although he could have a damn good guess – Albus’ partisan views towards Gryffindors being well documented - but this is where those fucking self-proclaimed Marauders had been given the idea for that bloody map of theirs, a map that now seemed to be, thanks to Lupin, firmly back in the hands of a Potter. 

The surface of this ancient table, when under the command of the headmaster, and only the headmaster, was overwritten with an enchanted map that showed the current position of all living beings within Hogwarts, including the secret passages, hiding places, short cuts and disused rooms. The only room it did not show was the Come-and-Go room, as its very nature made it unplottable. This was where the rebel students had been hiding since the Carrows’ regime had turned from indoctrination and abuse dressed as ‘punishments’, into flagrant torture and blatant attacks upon those who were in opposition. 

Neville Longbottom, Ginevra Weasley and many of the students whom they had taken under their protection had now sought sanctuary in the Room of Requirement, and Severus had been using this map to watch them travelling along the new secret passage that had appeared between the Room and the Hogs Head for some weeks now, comforted by the knowledge that Aberforth Dumbledore was supplying their food, and hopefully providing support and direction. 

All other secret passages in and out of the school had now been sealed, but the Room had surpassed itself and created this new one, outside of its own jurisdiction, as its occupants needed a way to get in and out of the school. 

The downside was that the passage could be seen on his map, even though the Room could not, but it made Severus curiously satisfied to think of the rebel students surviving under the very noses of the Carrows, who did not know it existed. 

In truth, they probably hadn’t known about the other secret passages either, since neither of them were likely to have been the most observant students themselves, but to maintain his cover he’d had no choice but to block them all, it would have been too risky not to. If any of the students had been discovered using a secret passage, it would not have been believed that he, as headmaster, hadn’t had knowledge of all routes in and out of the school. 

Severus was startled by the thump of his office door, the two most hated ‘professors’ in the school banging loudly on the other side. He opened the door with a wave of his wand, quickly closed the map with a wide sweep of his hand, and then hastened down the steps to meet them, lest they move further into his office than he would like. 

“He’s here, Snape. Harry Potter,” panted Alecto, who had clearly been running, as her piggy face was red and sweaty. 

“How do you know? He cannot enter these grounds without my knowledge. The school is bound to my wards.”

Amycus sneered at what he felt was Snape’s ignorance. 

“It looks like you missed somewhere, Headmaster.”

“Do enlighten me,” Snape replied, inspecting his fingernails in a bored fashion. 

“We were sitting by the Black Lake,” Alecto began. 

“Just sitting? Severus asked, raised an imperious eyebrow. 

If the two deviants were down by the Black Lake at dusk there was no doubt they had been engaging in some heinous act with each other. Merlin knows these two appeared to enjoy spicing up their incestuous relationship with some variety. 

Alecto sensibly opted to ignore his comment, and the insinuation. 

“We heard their voices, Snape. Walking beneath the ground. There is a secret tunnel under the grounds and into the castle. Didn’t know about that one, did you?”

Severus forced himself to remain silent, and kept his face deliberately neutral. 

“And whom did you hear?”

“Potter,” drawled Amycus. 

“You are quite sure?”

“Potter, being led along by that idiot Longbottom, who was bleating about how terrible life is under the Carrows. How cruel we are!”

Alecto seemed to relish every word of her notoriety as she mocked the young Gryffindor, who Severus believed had shown remarkable bravery in the face of great adversity, these last months. 

“They were alone?”

“Don’t think so,” Amycus replied. “We heard other voices, at least one other boy and girl. I’d bet that’ll be the blood traitor Weasley and that Mudblood who were with Potter at Malfoy Manor.”

He winced, and halted their excited tirade and enthusiasm at their own cleverness. 

“Enough. You know what you need to do, for the Dark Lord has given us our orders. You have been told to guard the Ravenclaw common room as that is where he believes Potter will head for. Go.”

For once, the two Death Eaters had nothing further to say, leaving his office and hopefully heading towards Ravenclaw Tower to undertake their master’s bidding. 

Severus could only hope that Dumbledore had prepared Potter for whatever lay ahead, but, knowing the information that he himself was still obliged to impart to the boy, that in the end, he must die at Voldemort’s hand, he doubted it. He looked up at the oil-painted portrait on the wall, an excellent likeness of a white-bearded wizard in a gaudy silver robe with matching hat, with a smiling face that was wearing its usual annoyingly benevolent expression. 

“The time has come, Albus. I presume this is the close that you spoke of?”

“I believe so,” Dumbledore replied, seriously. “All plans are in place, my boy. I have done all I can. So long as Harry and yourself do everything I have asked of you, Tom Riddle will be defeated.”

The portrait paused, allowing his words to sink in. 

“It is all in your hands now, Severus. Yours and Harry’s. I have great faith in the both of you. Now, do what you must do.”

Severus did indeed know what he must do. He had been instructed by the Dark Lord to do so immediately Potter was sighted in either Hogsmeade or Hogwarts. 

He pushed up his sleeve, and touched the tip of his wand to his Dark Mark - to summon the opposing side. 

-xxx-

Hermione sat with Ron on a low sofa in a quieter part of the Room of Requirement where they couldn’t be overheard. There had been a delighted uproar when they’d arrived, a thousand questions fired at them from every side. Now, plans were being made and reinforcements had been summoned. Lupin and Kingsley had already arrived, and she had no doubt that the rest of the Weasleys would be on their way soon. There also appeared to be half the old Gryffindor Quidditch team now tumbling through the hatch that led to the secret tunnel between here and the Hogs Head. 

“Ron, I’ve been thinking,” she whispered, holding his hand for support, for she felt scared and faint, the bread and cheese they’d been given by Aberforth not nearly enough to sate the gnawing hunger inside her. 

“Tell me something unusual” he grinned, and she returned it with a weak smile. 

“We’ve lost the sword. Griphook saw to that. We need to destroy the cup, and whatever Harry finds here, and the only thing we know that can destroy Horcruxes is Basilisk venom. So, we know where its body is …”

“Are you saying what I think you’re say, Hermione?”

“Let’s go to the Chamber. We know where it is, the bones will still be there. In the Muggle words, long-dead people can be identified by their dental records, since teeth take so long to decompose. The teeth will be impregnated with its venom. We can use them to destroy the remaining Horcruxes.”

“Harry destroyed Tom Riddle’s diary with a Basilisk fang!”

“Sssh! And yes, he did. I think it’s worth us trying to get in there. And, Ron … I don’t think we should tell Harry just yet. He’s got enough to worry about trying to find this object of Ravenclaw’s without thinking about how he’s going to destroy it when he does. Let’s try and do this ourselves.”

They slunk towards the door that led out into the school corridors. Ron had slipped out and she was just about to follow him when Neville bounded over, he had seen them.

“Where are you two going?” 

“We won’t be long Neville. We just need to get something from the bathroom for Harry, to help him.”

“The bathroom, right ok … oh, but hold on a minute, Hermione …”

They were gone and had closed the door behind them before Neville could finish his sentence. 

-xxx-

Severus was once again at the Headmasters’ map, watching for anyone emerging from the Come-and-Go room. Voldemort and the Death Eaters were already at the gate, only kept out by the powerful protective enchantments surrounding the school. He would hold the wards for as long as he possibly could. In order for the wards to fall, he would need to resign, lower the wards of his own volition, or die. Severus tried not to think too much about any of those options. 

His stomach lurched with fear and he felt a hit of acid bile rise in his throat as the surface of the map rippled, and he saw Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley’s names appear in the seventh-floor corridor where he knew the entrance of the Room of Requirement was concealed. 

He watched them head towards a back staircase and hurry down it, stopping at each floor, presumably to look around for anyone observing them. They finally stopped on the third floor, racing along a corridor until they reached and entered the disused girls’ bathroom, the one everyone avoided due to that bloody irritating ghost, Myrtle, and where most lately he had saved the life of Draco Malfoy after he had duelled with Potter. 

Their names remained still in the bathroom, until they suddenly disappeared from the map entirely. He knew instantly what they had done. The Chamber of fucking Secrets. There must be something they needed in there. 

He was just about to start wondering what on earth they could need in the long-sealed chamber, before another name appeared, emerging from the Room of Requirement. 

Harry Potter.

It must be the time. Potter was inside the school and heading directly towards Ravenclaw Tower accompanied by Luna Lovegood. The map showed the Carrows already inside the common room, lying in wait for their prey like hunters around a snare, and Minerva McGonagall heading towards the tower at a rate he wouldn’t have thought the elderly witch capable of, from Gryffindor Tower on the other side of the castle.

Shit. 

He closed down the map with a wave of his hand, and used a hidden Headmasters’ short cut through a side door of his office, navigating some magical walls and a couple of tapestries to arrive in the corridor outside Ravenclaw common room. Concealing himself with a Disillusionment charm and stepping behind a suit of armour, he waited. 

-xxx-

Hermione and Ron picked themselves up at the bottom of the slide and headed through the rocky tunnel to the elaborate, snake-adorned entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. They had never been this far in before, as Ron had been left with the injured Gilderoy Lockhart when Harry had faced the basilisk, and Hermione had been Petrified in the hospital, so had never been here at all. She felt distinctly uncomfortable and ill-at-ease, reminding her of when she had used the passage from the Restricted Section to find Severus in another of Slytherin’s secret rooms. 

She approached the door and touched one of the metal snakes, looking for a way to enter. 

Ron looked horrified as she let out a scream and was thrown backwards against the wall, as a severe stinging hex hit her with enough force to throw her off her feet. 

“Hermione!”

He rushed towards her, kneeling on the dirty floor and pulling her up to a sitting position. 

“I’m ok. It’s ok, Ron. I shouldn’t have touched it, that was stupid of me.”

“No one could ever call you stupid, Hermione.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, gratefully, in truth, rather shaken by the force that she’d been thrown with. 

She allowed Ron to help her gently to her feet. 

“I’ve got an idea,” he told her, turning around to face the huge, circular door. 

He began to make a series of strangled hissing sounds, much like those that Harry had made when she’d heard him speak Parseltongue in second year. 

“What are you …?”

“Sshhh!”

Nothing happened. 

Ron tried again, each time a little more frustration creeping across his face, and his cheeks getting redder. Finally, on his fourth attempt, the snakes began to slither around in the door, releasing the locking mechanism and the enormous, heavy door swung open. 

“How did you do that? Was that Parseltongue?”

He grinned at her. 

“I remembered the sounds Harry made to open the locket. I think it means open.”

“Clearly,” she smiled, relieved. 

He grabbed her hand and they headed through the doorway. Ron passed through, but as she followed him, she was hit with the unsettling feeling again, only this time it was truly terrifying, as if all the breath was being squeezed from her lungs. Hermione yanked her hand out of Ron’s and stepped back, away from the doorway. The feeling stopped. She tried to enter again, the feeling was back. 

Ron was already through, seemingly unaffected and still looking rather proud of himself. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked. 

“Ron, I don’t think I can go in here.”

“You’re ok, I’m with you.”

“No, I don’t mean I’m afraid to go in there, I mean, I don’t think I can. Salazar Slytherin was a pureblood supremacist. It makes sense that the wards would be set up so that a Muggle-born wouldn’t be allowed to enter his chamber.”

He visibly gulped, not even attempting to argue with her logic or persuade her to accompany him. 

“I’ll do it then. You’ll wait here?”

“Right here.”

She watched him walk down the narrow passageway that must lead to the Chamber of Secrets until he was out of sight, and then moved as far away from the door as she could. Even being near it made her feel sick. 

“Keep the Mudbloods away,” she thought, angrily.

Suddenly, the wall she was leaning on ceased to become solid, and she was pulled into it before she could even scream for Ron. 

Her assailant grabbed her shoulders and turned her around to face him, instantly. 

“Severus!”

Without hesitation, she threw herself into his arms, still trembling from the fear coursing through her body due to the proximity of the Chamber-of-Purebloods-Only. 

“Oh, my goodness,” she gasped, over and over, into the familiar smell of his neck, enjoying the feel of his hair spilling on to her cheek. 

He did not speak, but she felt his arms encircle her, pulling her tightly against him as the rapid beat of his heart pounded upon her chest. 

“What ... on earth … have you been up to, Miss Granger?”

Hermione pulled back a little so she could see him, and tenderly pushed his long hair back from his face, smiling, thinking of how the Occlumency she’d learned had saved them both during interrogation by Bellatrix. She thought of raids upon Gringotts and the Ministry of Magic, of escaping on dragons, defeating Dementors, destroying horcruxes, unexpected Caterwauling charms and camping the length and breadth of country.

“I don’t think now is the time for stories,” she replied, pulling his head down none-too-gently and pressing her lips hard against his own. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, into her mouth, using the movements of his lips and jaw to open her and seek her tongue. 

He needed her. 

The soft touch of her lips, hands and body were almost too much sweetness for his blackened soul to cope with. He plundered her mouth like a man possessed, backing her a short step into the tunnel wall behind her.

“I need you,” he admitted, lowering his hand and fumbling with the button and zip of her jeans, “I need to touch you, Hermione, just one last time. Let me feel you, let me feel all of you.”

“For the last time …?”

“Sssh,” he interrupted. “Please, just allow me. Just kiss me, girl, so that I may take this moment with me, however tonight unfolds.”

Severus captured her mouth again with the intent to silence her, feeling his jaw click just under his own ear as he snogged her with the fiercest passion. 

He slipped his hand into her jeans and down the front of her knickers, pushing between her legs and opening her labia, frantically seeking her hole to sink two long fingers inside, moaning into her mouth with heady pleasure and hearing her make the same sound in return. 

“Please, Hermione,” he begged, desperately. “Please, let me touch you.”

She allowed him to move his hand into a position that gave him enough space to touch her more fully, and he pressed his thumb into her cleft to seek her clitoris, reaching under the hood and beginning to thrum against it, gratified to hear her squeal into his mouth.

He kissed her harder, held her tighter, rubbed her faster, needing her to climax at his hand more than he needed air at that very moment. This witch was the only chink of light in his darkness, she aroused feelings in him that he had never thought were possible, both when they had been together during her sixth year, but also in this last year, when they had been apart. 

“Oh, oh …” she gasped, beginning to circle her hips against his invading hand. 

“That’s it,” he hissed, moving his head down to place hard, sucking kisses on the side of her neck. “Give it all to me, my angel.”

Flickering his thumb rapidly against her clit, which was now hard and erect, and crooking his fingers deep inside her, he knew it would not take long. He knew her tells and her movements, even the rate of her breathing gave him clues as to where she was. All the time they had spent intimately together, he had watched and he had learned. He knew this girl, inside and out. 

“I want you, Hermione.”

He had removed his wet lips from mauling her neck with his kisses and had placed them directly next to her ear to drawl low and deep into it. 

She let loose with a small cry of release as she heaved herself over the edge of her orgasm, pumping her hips against his fingers as he continued to rub her through her climax. Her juices flooded his hands, and he held her tightly.

“Yessss …” he growled, biting her earlobe. “You are so delicious when you come, little girl.”

“Oh, my goodness,” she breathed, trying to return her breathing to a normal speed.

He gave a small chuckle, removing his fingers from inside her hole but leeaving his hand inside her knickers, enjoying the feel of her wet warmth and the odd twitch of an aftershock that flinched against it. 

She started to trail one of her small hands towards the large erection that was straining at his trousers, but her stopped her. 

“We do not have any more time, Hermione. Already, I should not be here.”

“You shouldn’t be in Hogwarts?”

“I caught Minerva with Potter, outside Ravenclaw Tower. I was forced to flee, thus deserting my post as headmaster before I did anything but defend myself against her attack lest I hurt her, for despite her age, her duelling skills are still fierce, and she held nothing back. 

She and the other professors, along with the members of the Order who have arrived, are now securing the castle and evacuating the students as the Dark Lord and his huge army are at the school gates, seeking entry.”

As her eyes widened in comprehension, he eased his hand out of her underwear, sending a gentle cleansing charm as he brushed his fingers against her, so she did not have to run around the castle damp with her own emissions that he had stirred up. He did not cleanse his own hand, he would keep the scent of her it. No one could take that from him, he thought, as he gently rebuttoned her jeans. 

“Can they get in?”

“They couldn’t at first. Not until the main wards of the castle fell. The other professors are currently erecting an additional magical shield around the school but I feel sure it will not last long against such a huge army.”

“What would cause the wards to fall?”

“My death, my instruction or my desertion.”

She inhaled sharply, the shock and fear visible upon her face, understanding that when he had fled from Minerva, this was tantamount to him deserting his post. He was no longer the headmaster. There was no one in charge of the school. 

“Hermione, you must accept that …”

“Stop. I don’t have to accept anything. We can do this, Severus, we will all do this. We will all defeat him.”

“Let us say you are correct. What of after? What then?”

“Then … I will finish my schooling. And you and I will … can be … together. You know, if you want to,” she finished, quickly. 

“Oh, Hermione,” he sighed, enveloping her in his arms, his black cloak looping around her shoulders and resting his chin on the top of her curly head. “I want everything you are willing to give, and more besides, but you are a young witch, with your whole life ahead. I am sure you would not wish to be tied to an old wizard, much less one who would be so reviled.”

“I will make sure that everyone knows the truth about you,” she insisted, vehemently, pushing out of his embrace so she could meet his black eyes with defiant brown ones, “and I will be proud to be with you. I am of age, there is nothing anyone can say. Let them try.”

Her words made his heart leap, but for all her wisdom, she was still an idealistic young teenager, he had to remember that, even though she was offering him all that he had ever dreamed of as an abused child, as an unloved, unpopular youth and as a hated, reviled adult man. 

“Let us make decisions when we know we are free to make them,” he told her, simply. 

They stared at each other, both knowing that Weasley could return from the Chamber at any moment, that they did not have the luxury of time. 

He leaned forwards and brushed his lips against hers, planting soft little kisses upon them that promised and reassured. 

“Keep yourself safe, Hermione.”

“And you, Severus.”

He moved her forwards so she was once again standing in front of the tunnel wall, now solid again, and she looked around her, the door to the Chamber of Secrets was still open and that unsettling feeling was still in her gut. 

She edged closer to the open door, and could hear Ron’s heavy footfall kicking through the rocks in the tunnel, could see a bright ginger head in the distance, walking briskly towards her. Hopefully he had been successful in collecting up some of the Basilisk’s fangs so they could use them, and she rummaged in her beaded bag for Hufflepuff’s cup - they could destroy that one straight away. 

Hermione had another quick look at the wall behind her, where Severus had just aroused her beyond belief and bid her farewell. 

Where her lover had disappeared to now, she had no idea, since he had deserted his post he must now have to leave the school, one would think. 

She wondered when it would be, that she saw him again.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you are mortally wounded, your memories will flow from you unbidden.”

They had landed in a clatter of limbs and broomsticks outside the Room of Requirement, the doors slamming behind them and trapping the blaze of Crabbe’s uncontrolled Fiendfyre inside. As they were escaping the fire, Harry had turned his broom around to rescue Malfoy and Goyle, both of whom were laying in a semi-conscious heap on the teetering top of a huge pile of junk. Crabbe had been engulfed and consumed by the fire that he had cast from his very own wand. He had been unable to control his own magic, and had paid for his idiocy with his life. 

Ravenclaw’s diadem, the tiara that had been turned into a Horcrux by Voldemort, had disintegrated into the palm of Harry’s hand, destroyed by the Fiendfyre. 

“At least that’s one less to worry about,” wheezed Ron, with a cough, trying to clear the mild scorch from his throat that was affecting them all. 

She and Ron had watched, shocked, as Harry then seemed to lose himself inside his own mind, clutching at his scar and shaking with distress. They had not been able to rouse him nor break what they presumed to be the connection with Voldemort. It had taken a good few minutes for him to return to normal. 

“He’s in the Shrieking Shack,” Harry gasped, slumping back against the wall with the effort of standing. “He’s just waiting, for me. Apparently, he thinks I’ll come and find him myself before the night is out.”

“That’s probably true, isn’t it, Harry?”

Ron and Harry both stared at her in amazement.

“Well, it is. All we have left to do kill is the snake. To do that, we’re going to need to get close to him. When you saw him in the Shrieking Shack, did he have Nagini with him?”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. 

“The snake was with him. He had a golden sphere, like a huge orb, and the snake was twisting around inside it. He must be magically protecting it, I told you he knows what we’re doing, destroying his Horcruxes.”

“Doesn’t sound like it’ll be easy,” Ron pointed out. 

“I’ll go,” said Harry. “You two stay here, do what you can to help the others.”

“I don’t think so, mate,” Ron replied, “we’re in this together, you, me and Hermione. If you’re going to slay a giant snake, we’re coming with you.”

Hermione nodded her agreement, and Harry smiled gratefully, lifting himself off the wall and casting a cursory look at Malfoy and Goyle. 

“Let’s go then,” he said, “I don’t think these two are going anywhere fast.” 

Just then, they were interrupted by Fred and Percy, both duelling a masked Death Eater each as they ran down the hallway. 

“Death Eaters are in the castle!” shouted Percy in warning, as Fred sent a hex that knocked off the hoods of their opponents. 

Unmasked, Percy had found himself duelling the Minister, Pius Thicknesse, whom he downed in one swift spell by transfiguring him into a sea urchin, that flopped around helplessly on the floor. 

“A fish out of water, I think, Minister,” Percy laughed, turning to help his brother. 

An enormous explosion suddenly knocked every one of them off their feet. 

When the dust cleared, Hermione saw Ron and Harry pulling themselves out of the rubble, and she struggled to free herself as she could not reach her wand. Harry began to move towards her, clambering over the piles of rocks and helped her out of the hole she was trapped in. They both turned around at the same time at the sound of two anguished cries. 

The three Weasley brothers were huddled in a corner, and it wasn’t until they drew closer that they realised the sounds of grief and despair were coming from Percy and Ron. 

Fred Weasley was laying completely still, half-buried between rubble, his face covered in blood and his neck bent sideways at an unnatural angle. 

“Oh, Merlin, no! Fred!” Harry yelled, running as fast as he could manage through the debris to get to his friends. 

There was no time to mourn him, for Aragog’s descendants began to stream through the huge hole that had been blasted through the wall. They shot stunning spells at the giant spiders, making them fall backwards and knock the others back down the wall as they plummeted. 

She and Harry saw them off as Ron and Percy dragged Fred’s body into an alcove and concealed it well, ensuring that it would not be found and desecrated. It was unspoken, they would return for him later. 

Later, she and Harry would cry for their friend. 

Later, Ron and Percy would grieve for their brother. 

Not now. 

-xxx-

Severus was forced to join the ranks of the Death Eaters, ostensibly fighting against the staff and students of the school where he had been the headmaster little over an hour ago. They were no longer under his protection. Whatever happened from this point onwards was now beyond his control. 

He did what he could, concealing his identity with his robes and mask to avoid being a prime target, and making sure his jinxes and hexes missed their marks more often than they hit, landing only the minor ones with minimal loss of life or limb. 

“A little careless today, aren’t we, Severus?”

The unctuous voice drawled in his ear, over his hood, but he still recognised the oily tones of Lucius Malfoy. They all had their individual masks, so that they could identify one another even when masked and shrouded in their Death Eater robes. 

“Fuck off. Attend to your own business,” he parried, sending a fiercer hex than he intended at a Hufflepuff seventh-year, knocking the boy off his feet. 

He felt Malfoy’s hand clutch at the back of his robes, holding him still. 

“Ah, but that’s where you are wrong, Snape. You are my business.”

Severus felt a violent tug of Apparition as he was pulled away under Malfoy’s tight grip. Of course, there were no wards in place, therefore everyone was now able to Apparate within the school and grounds. 

As they landed, he instantly recognised the musty smell of the Shrieking Shack. 

Lucius stepped around to face him, removing his mask and bidding Severus to do the same, which he did. To not remove one’s mask in deference to a fellow Death Eater was a punishable offence. 

Malfoy’s face was still bruised and swollen from the punishments he had received after Potter’s escape from the Manor. His eyes were bloodshot and livid streaks of grey were underneath, purple bruises around his neck. 

“Excuse me for dragging you from the battle, Severus,” he drawled. “But our Lord requested an audience with you. I shall go and take your place now, of course.”

With a loud crack, Malfoy Apparated away, as if he couldn’t get out of there fast enough, which was without doubt the case. Severus took a deep breath, for he could already sense the fetid presence behind him, and turned. 

“My Lord,” he greeted, bowing low and kissing the hem of Voldemort’s robes. 

To Voldemort’s right, Nagini was twisting and turning inside some kind of conjured dome, levitated in the air and sparkling golden. His heart sank at the sight of the gigantic reptile trapped in the shining sphere, ready as always to do her master’s bidding. He felt for his wand, safely up his sleeve, and swallowed hard. 

It was the snake. 

It was always going to be that fucking snake. 

-xxx-

As Hermione, Harry and Ron ran through the castle the best they could under the invisibility cloak, a difficult task now that all three of them were fully grown, the scenes all around them were that of chaos, of destruction, of war. 

What were they fighting for? 

Voldemort was calmly waiting in the Shrieking Shack for Harry to attend him. Why was all this wounding and killing necessary?

They passed Malfoy wriggling out of a Death Eater’s clutches by claiming to be on ‘their side’. Draco had no idea which bloody side he was even on any more, Hermione almost felt sorry for him. Ron didn’t, however, as once the tall, ugly Death Eater had moved on to new targets, he took aim and punched Draco full in the face, breaking Malfoy’s nose with a sickening crunch. It began to spurt jets of blood all over his shirt as he slid down the wall to the floor. 

“That’s twice we’ve saved your life tonight, you cowardly little shit,” Ron hissed into Draco’s ear, before pulling her and Harry away. 

As they hurried through the corridors and into the entrance hallway, they arrived to see yet more devastation. Everywhere she looked there were students and staff duelling the invading Death Eaters, hexes and curses were flying in the air with abandon. Peeves had delightedly joined the fray and was raining Professor Sprout’s Snargaluff pods from a great height, unfortunately not caring who he hit, and they had to run before anything hit the invisibility cloak and exposed them. 

They rounded a sharp corner, and were faced with the gruesome sight of Fenrir Greyback holding Lavender Brown flat on her back, sexually assaulting her with one hand whilst savaging her throat with his teeth. After his treatment she’d received from Greyback at Malfoy Manor, there was no way that Hermione could run past and ignore, and so drawing her wand, she fired the strongest Entrail-Expelling curse she could muster at the werewolf’s turned back. Cowardly, but no more than this bastard deserved. 

It was a dark curse, usually with fatal results, and Severus had taught it to her for situations of extreme need. Well, this was an extreme need. This heinous wizard, disgusting werewolf that took no care of his condition, would harm no one else, he would take no more lives, he would defile no more girls. Hermione had just seen to that. 

As Greyback staggered back from Lavender, clutching his innards that were spilling from his chest, she hoped heartily that he would just die as he collapsed after lurching a few feet, falling over the wall into the courtyard one storey below them. 

Parvati came running out of the same side entrance as they had used, dragging Professor Vector with her, pointing at Lavender and screaming. They would help Lav, if any help could be given. She appeared to be still alive, but the immediate future seemed uncertain, and she was so very badly injured. 

She, Harry and Ron pushed each other across the school grounds with only their feet visible beneath the cloak. Fortunately, no one was taking any notice of three pairs of disembodied feet. 

Another herd of Acromantula swarmed into the courtyard, and the revolting smell of burning flesh as they were fired at by both sides was overpowering. Clearly, Voldemort had not realised that Acromantula had no loyalty, before inviting them to join the fight. Those spiders would just eat anything or anyone that crossed their path. It was most telling that Ron was keener to get nearer to Voldemort than to the giant spiders. 

They slowed when they reached the Whomping Willow, stopping its branches using the knot in the trunk and crawling into the tunnel, which was a lot lower and smaller than they remembered, and they achieved it with some difficulty. As they approached the sole room where Lupin had been kept as a student and where they had first met Sirius Black, low voices could be heard, and one of them was unmistakeable. 

Severus. 

Harry was in front, and pulled them all behind a pile of crates where they could secrete themselves, and see the feet of the people in the room – Snape’s familiar black dragon-hide boots and Voldemort’s strangely bare feet, pale and blue with cold. Perhaps he was impervious to it. 

“Do you know why I have called you back from the battle, Severus?”

“I do not, my Lord. How may I be of assistance?”

His subservient tone was like nothing she had ever heard from him before. So, this was how he must prostrate himself before Voldemort. How utterly demeaning for such a proud and powerful wizard. Did Dumbledore really have any idea what he had been asking Severus to do, all these years? Her eyes prickled with tears, and she continued to listen to the conversation with dread in heart – partly for Severus, and partly in fear of their own precarious position. How they were meant to reach and kill the snake, she had no idea, and clutched tightly to a basilisk fang in case it was needed urgently. 

-xxx-

“This wand, Severus,” he began, brandishing the Elder wand that he had stolen from the grave of Albus Dumbledore, “this wand, does not recognise me. I am not able to use it to its full capability.”

“You have performed extraordinary magic with this wand, My Lord.”

“I have performed my usual magic, which is extraordinary. But I feel no difference between this wand and my previous one. Why is that, do you think?”

“I cannot answer that, my Lord, for I do not know.”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at him, as if assessing the truth of his answer. Severus kept his eyes on the snake, coiling unhappily in the prison of the golden sphere. He did not trust Tom Riddle and he certainly did not trust that damn snake, who was now almost a physical extension of her master. 

“I believe,” Voldemort said, slowly and softly, “I believe that the wand does not respond to me because it is somehow aware that I am not its true master. That fool Ollivander said as much, and I am forced to admit there may be some truth in his tale.”

“My Lord,” Severus ventured, “whilst we are talking, the battle rages on. I am concerned that Potter will be killed by another. Would it please you if I were to go and fetch him, to bring him here before you?”

It was a desperate attempt to turn the conversation away from the destination he believed it to be heading towards.

“My followers have their orders. No one is to touch Potter. Before the night is out, he will come to me. I have told you this.”

“Of course, My Lord,” he replied bowing his head, respectfully. 

“So, my question is this, Severus. If I am not the true master of the Elder Wand, who is?”

Fuck. 

He could not tear his eyes from the snake. 

“You are, of course, my Lord. You took it from Dumbledore yourself.”

“But what if its allegiance had already been changed before I stole it? What if the Elder Wand already recognises a new master? I would have to defeat that master in order for the wand to truly be mine, would I not?”

Severus’ throat had closed up and was slowly choking him. He had no idea what excuse or reason to give. He had no fucking idea what to say. Was this how it was to end? He felt his face drain of all colour, and wondered if he might faint. How very undignified that would be. 

Voldemort walked slowly over the small, dirty window and looked out at the castle in the distance, the black night sky alight with spells and fire, the huge giants clearly visible as they rampaged through the grounds and courtyard. 

“We have all but taken the school, Severus. Your usefulness to me is coming to an end. I see no reason to keep a spy at Hogwarts now that the school will be fully under my control. However, you should know that I do regret this.”

“Regret what … my Lord?” he answered, hoarsely and in an unsteady voice. 

“Why, what I must do. You killed Dumbledore, Severus. You made yourself the master of the Elder Wand. Whilst you live, it cannot truly be mine.”

“My Lord, there is no need …”

He was cut off, with only enough time to scrabble for his wand, as the golden sphere containing that hated snake spun across the room with a wave of the madman’s wand, dropping it so quickly on his head that it had encased his head and shoulders before he even lifted his hands to struggle against it. 

“You have been a good and loyal servant, Severus. But I have no further use for you. Your continued existence denies me that which I require, being the mastery of the Elder Wand. Nagini?”

The snake looked up, expectantly, at the sound of him calling her name. 

“Kill.”

Severus felt a searing pain as the snake’s fangs pierced the skin of his neck, again and again. He tried to cast something, anything, with the wand he held in his hand, but he was losing blood too quickly, and the pain was too great. His blood began to spatter up the sides of the magical dome, and he could do nothing but fall to the floor. 

As he crashed down, he felt the weight of the snake lifted from his shoulders, and watched from his prone position on the floor as Voldemort curled his wand, extracting both the snake and the dome and levitating them together across the room towards him.   
Voldemort looked down at him, watching his life blood drain from his neck. 

“I regret it,” he said, coldly, before Apparating himself and Nagini away with a quiet crack. 

All fell silent. He could hear nothing but the roar of his own pulsing blood in his ears. 

He was dying. 

There it was, it all ended here, for he was drowning in his own blood on the dirty floor of the Shrieking Shack. How … ignominious. 

Severus raised an arm and tried to scrabble in his pocket for the potions and antidotes he had stored there under the Extension Charm he had showed Hermione the previous year, but his blood had drained to such as extent that he did not have enough strength to do so. 

There was suddenly a clatter from the other side of the room as a pile of wooden crates were pushed over, and before he could really register what was happening, Potter was upon him, not attacking, but kneeling over him, applying pressure to his throat and calling for dittany. Calling … whom? 

At once he knew. This was the time. He was going to die, and he had not yet given Potter the dreadful news that Albus had insisted he impart, right at the last moment. 

This is the last moment I can give you, old man, I don’t have that many left at my disposal.

Severus tried to swallow, but could not. Concentrating with all his might on the memories he wished to share, his breathing started to become ragged. 

Understand, he urged the boy, wordlessly.

“Look at me.”

-xxx-

Hermione rushed into the Shrieking Shack with Ron after they were sure Voldemort had really departed. Harry was already kneeling in front of Severus’ black-cloaked figure that was sprawled uncomfortably on the rough wooden floor, trying futilely to stem the crimson blood flowing from his throat with his bare hand. 

“Dittany, Hermione. Now!”

She scrabbled in her bag, finding the dittany and joining him on Severus’ other side, uncorking the bottle and pouring the entire rest of the bottle across his neck. That little dropper was nothing compared to the injury that she saw before her. He could not turn his head, but spun his eyes to look at her. They were full of pain and fear. She grasped his hand that lay next to her, squeezing it tightly, and hoped she hadn’t imagined the slight squeeze she received in return. 

A silvery-blue substance began gushing from his mouth, ears, and even from his eyes. She knew exactly what it was, even if Harry didn’t. Hadn’t Professor Snape told her himself, in one of their very first sessions? 

“If you are mortally wounded, your memories will flow from you unbidden.”

Mortally wounded. 

Mortally wounded. 

He was dying. There was no hope for him, and he knew it. 

Controlling her emotions, Hermione grabbed an empty glass flask from her beaded bag, thrusting it into Harry’s hand, showing him how to collect the strange substance that was leaking from Severus. She had no doubt these memories would contain everything Harry needed to know, everything he could not have told the boy whilst he lived. 

They would reveal all those things that Dumbledore had told him, had forced him into, that he had never told anyone, not even her, for he hadn’t wished to be a burden. Severus was using his last breaths not to try and save himself, but to ensure that he had fulfilled his obligations and that the memories were handed over. 

Her eyes began to fill with tears, and she wiped them away crossly, not realising she had smeared some of Severus’ blood across her face. 

She gently unfurled Snape’s fingers from the front of Harry’s robes, where they were clutched tightly, and sent the boys to get a head-start on the run to the school to use the Pensieve, insisting she would stay with Snape until he passed. 

“No way, Hermione. We’re staying together,” Ron insisted. 

“Wait, then. Please, just wait a few minutes. We can’t leave him here alone.”

She looked back to Severus, holding tight to his hand, pulling off her scarf with the other and pressing it to his neck, that still sizzled with the copious amount of dittany she had applied in such excess. He would be in severe pain from that, not just from the snake bites themselves.

“Hermione …” Harry warned. 

“Wait, I said! Just fucking listen to me for once, Harry Potter!”

The corner of Severus’ mouth, no longer the sneering slash it used to be, crooked up in a half-smile at her bold words before falling slack, his black eyes becoming fixed and empty. 

She would cry for him later. 

Much later, when her heart had had time to process the loss. Right now, they had a snake to kill and a wizarding world to save.

Severus Snape may have died a humiliating death, she thought, as she allowed Ron and Harry to pull her under the cloak and away from the Shrieking Shack, having drowned in his own blood on a filthy floor, but he had not died alone.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Of that I have no doubt. But, Miss Granger, if there is one thing you have learned since viewing his memories in the Pensieve, is that Severus did not love you. He sought comfort from you, in a variety of ways I am sure, but his heart was, and always has been, with Lily Potter.”

Hermione, Ron and Harry had slipped out of the Great Hall under cover of the invisibility cloak, and had come here, to the Headmasters’ office. The atmosphere in the hall had been celebratory, for Voldemort had finally succumbed to Harry’s wand, but there was also an all-pervading grief for the dead that lay all around them on stretchers, waiting to be collected by their families or by St Mungo’s staff. 

Voldemort’s body had been unceremoniously removed to the side of the busy room with no fanfare, and it would be handed over to the Aurors. The Dark Lord was finally powerless. It was hard to believe that a single man could have caused the amount of fear and destruction that Tom Riddle had. 

Mr and Mrs Weasley had refused to leave Fred’s side, and there was quite a cluster of redheads around where he lay, his broken body retrieved from its hiding place by Bill, Charlie and Percy. Ginny was quietly weeping, tucked under her father’s arm, and George had yet to speak, for surely the loss of his twin would hit him worst of all. 

The three of them had needed to escape from the attention, and Hagrid had provided them with enough cover to slip under the cloak and discreetly exit the hall. 

Harry had received wild applause from the portraits of the assembled headmasters and mistresses, which he’d accepted with embarrassed grace, and once the noise had quieted, he’d dragged herself and Ron over to the Pensieve - where he had poured the flask of memories he’d recovered from Severus, and all three of them leaned their heads forward into shimmering surface of the stone bowl.

-xxx-

Hermione wasn’t sure how much time had passed when they finally removed their heads from the Pensieve, straightening up and staring at one another. She was numb with shock at seeing his whole life story spread out before her eyes, and every fibre of her soul burned for the murdered wizard she had loved. How was it possible she would never see him again? 

Hermione didn’t trust herself to speak, or even cry. 

“Wow,” said Ron, articulate as always. 

“Exactly,” replied Harry. “Snape was on our side all along. He never wavered from the path he agreed with Dumbledore all those years ago, after … after my mum died.”

“And that’s how you knew. Knew that you had to get old snake-face to kill the Horcrux inside you?”

Ron was quick on the uptake. 

“That’s right,” said Harry, stepping away from them as he approached the portrait with which he most wished to converse. 

“Harry, my boy,” said Dumbledore, smiling through the tears that were rolling down his painted face. “You did it. I am exceptionally proud of you. Thank you, Harry, for your trust in me. The wizarding world will be a better place because of you, and your two friends here of course, to whom much credit must also be given. Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, thank you for your unfailing support of Harry. He could not have achieved this without you.”

“It, er … wasn’t completely unfailing,” Ron mumbled, his face reddening. 

“Of that I have no doubt, Mr Weasley,” Dumbledore replied, sagely. “But should I dare hope that the Deluminator lit your path of return?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it did. Thanks for that.”

“Just as I planned, Mr Weasley.”

Dumbledore then turned to Hermione, expectantly. 

“So, that’s it, then?” she asked, crossly, her mind whirring with a thousand things she suddenly wanted to say. 

“I beg your pardon, Miss Granger?”

“The end justifies the means?”

“I’m afraid I do not understand you,” the portrait replied, seeming discombobulated. 

“For the Greater Good, wasn’t it, Sir? Whatever you needed to do, whomever you needed to control, no matter who you needed to trample all over, that was all okay because you got the result you wanted in the end!”

Hermione was almost shouting, and her eyes once again threatened to spill over with tears. She wiped her face, and her hand came away with a smear of blood upon it. 

Severus’ blood. 

“You would rather that Voldemort had survived?”

“Of course I wouldn’t! I’m glad he’s dead!” she shot back, indignantly. 

“Well then, I did what needed to be done in order to bring about a resolution, Miss Granger. There are always casualties in a war.”

“I know that. But people aren’t pieces in a chess set, you know! You can’t move them around the board at your whim, disrupt their lives, promise them things then take them away!”

“Hermione!” Harry admonished, tugging her arm to pull her away from the portrait she was now fully shouting at. 

“Let me go, Harry!” she warned, wrenching her arm from his grip. 

“What about Harry, Sir? You left him hardly anything to go on. Months we spent, trying to work out what you needed him to do. It was like a game to you, wasn’t it?”

“I can assure you it was not.”

Harry stepped between her and the portrait. 

“Hermione, when I … when I died, when that part of me died, I spoke with Dumbledore. The actual Dumbledore. He explained everything to me, all his plans and reasons. It’s all okay, I promise you. I understand everything.”

The old Headmaster’s portrait was now smiling again, as if Harry’s words had suddenly made everything fine again. 

“What about Sev … Professor Snape? What about the things you forced him to do?”

Dumbledore looked uncomfortable, but was saved from answering by Professor McGonagall entering the large, circular office. 

“And what are you three doing in my office?” she asked, but not unkindly, and with an indulgent smile upon her face. 

“We had a few things to catch up with Professor Dumbledore,” Harry replied, “and a wand to fix.”

He held up his now-mended holly wand in one hand, and the Elder Wand in the other. 

“I’ll be putting this back where it belongs, Professor Dumbledore. Ultimate power is not for me.”

“Be sure that you do,” Dumbledore told him, “and I believe that you should also retrieve the body of a very brave and noble man from the Shrieking Shack.”

He looked pointedly at Hermione. 

“We saw Professor Snape killed by Voldemort,” Harry explained to McGonagall. “We stayed with him until he died. Then we had to leave him there.”

“I shall arrange for his body to be collected,” she replied, coldly. 

“No. I’ll go. I want to bring him back myself. Come with me, please, Professor. I need to explain to you about Snape – Professor Snape. He was not the man you think he was. He was on our side all along. I couldn’t have defeated Voldemort without him.”

The elderly witch and new headmistress of the school looked shocked, and a little guilty. Her eyes flicked up to Dumbledore’s portrait.

“On your orders, Albus?”

“Naturally, Minerva.”

“Oh, Albus!” she exclaimed, crossly. “Oh, Severus. Oh, that poor man. How we all treated him!”

“Severus had his role to play, Minerva,” called Dumbledore, but McGonagall shook her head, a finger between her eyebrows rubbing away the tension.

“I want to help too,” volunteered Ron, getting up from his position slouched upon the desk. 

“Very well then. I shall accompany you both. Potter is correct, we must retrieve Severus’ body. Miss Granger?”

“Miss Granger will remain here to talk with me a while longer, Minerva,” Dumbledore interrupted, “if she will be so kind?”

Hermione nodded, indicating that she would stay, and that it was fine for them to go. Harry tucked the invisibility cloak inside his robes, which were torn and filthy like everyone else’s who had been fighting. McGonagall herself had a huge gash across her left cheek from where she had been duelling so fiercely. Hermione watched them leave for their grim task, before whirling back around to face up to the former headmaster’s portrait. 

“Sit down, Miss Granger,” he instructed, not unkindly. 

She perched herself on the desk and put her feet deliberately on the seat of the chair, daring him to admonish her. 

“You feel that I have wronged Severus.”

“You made him a target. You meant for him to become the master of the Elder Wand.”

“Not so. Severus would never have become master of the wand, for he did not defeat me. I asked him to kill me. I died undefeated, therefore the power of the wand died with me.”

“But, Voldemort thought it was him, and that was enough. That’s why he killed him. You knew that, and allowed it to happen.”

“Severus told me many years ago that he was … expendable. That I should use him for whatever purpose I desired to ensure the protection of the Potters. He promised himself to me in totality.”

“You kept him unfairly bound to a promise he made years ago.”

“I needed him to keep it. He was vitally important to bring about the demise of Tom Riddle.”

“But his life was hell!”

“His life was a prison of his own poor choices and his own guilt.”

“You could have released him from the promise he made you.”

“I could have. But at what cost to wizardkind, Miss Granger? Of the all the wizards I knew, only Severus Snape had such disregard for his own life’s worth that he would be willing to do whatever was needed, whether he would come out of it alive, or not.”

Hermione inhaled deeply in shock at his blasé words. 

“You exploited his self-loathing.”

“I used it for the greater good. And I was successful.”

“Successful? He is dead!”

“And so is Tom Riddle, my dear.”

She narrowed her eyes at the old headmaster for whom she used to have so much respect. 

“He wanted to escape, you know. He used to beg me to hide him, to take him away from all this. He told me … told me he loved me. He wanted a life beyond the one you bound him to.”

“Of that I have no doubt. But, Miss Granger, if there is one thing you have learned since viewing his memories in the Pensieve, is that Severus did not love you. He sought comfort from you, in a variety of ways I am sure, but his heart was, and always has been, with Lily Potter.”

Hermione leapt to her feet and ran from the office, slamming the door hard behind her, not wanting to hear any more. 

Making her way back down towards the entrance hall, she could see Professor McGonagall speaking to the Head of the Auror office. Harry and Ron saw her approaching down the main staircase, that was strewn with burst Snargaluff pods and shattered crystal balls. They ran over, as quickly as they could through the debris that littered the stone floor of the formerly grand hallway. 

“Hermione,” Harry gasped. “He wasn’t there.”

“What?”

“Snape’s body. It wasn’t in the Shrieking Shack. Just a huge pool of blood, splattered across the floor in all directions. McGonagall’s reporting it to the Aurors now. She thinks that his body was taken and desecrated by those who hated him, or possibly retrieved by fleeing Death Eaters who hadn’t discovered his true loyalties. His wand …”

She looked over at McGonagall, who held in her hands the two snapped halves of Severus’ distinctive black wand. 

-xxx-

The Weasleys insisted on taking Harry and Hermione back home with them to the Burrow. 

Their only other option would have been to return to Grimmauld Place, which was Harry’s legal home, but both found they preferred the comfort and warmth of the Burrow, plus, neither wanted to be parted from Ron just yet. They had been through too much together. 

The three of them sat in the overgrown garden in the weak sunshine of early summer, huddled together like shell-shocked casualties of war, which of course, they were. 

Ginny would often join them, and sometimes they would make small talk, other times they would discuss their very deep and painful feelings about the war, and then there were those times when no words were necessary. Times when they just held each other, reassuring one another they were all still alive. 

Hermione still felt weak and tired, and emotionally exhausted. Always the last one up in the mornings, shaken awake by Ginny with a summons to the breakfast table. She had difficulty getting out of bed, for every part of her ached, including her mind and heart.  
Every day, it seemed there was another funeral to attend, another memorial for some poor soul who had fallen during what had come to be known as the Battle of Hogwarts. They had wept throughout the Muggle funeral of Colin Creevey, whose milkman father remained utterly uncomprehending of how and why his brave son had died. 

Andromeda Tonks held a beautiful joint service for her husband Ted, along with Tonks and Lupin. Cradling the tiny, blue-haired baby in her arms, she had wept freely as the three coffins containing his mother, father and grandfather were lowered into the ground, the newborn baby not yet realising the true extent of his tragic loss. 

Laying Fred Weasley to rest had been a different kind of hell, the windswept hills behind the Burrow had been filled with Gryffindors and redheads paying their final respects. It was a day of joy for the wonderful man he had been, and devastating sorrow for the hole he had left in their lives. That such a wizard had been taken by nothing but a falling wall seemed senseless and a complete waste of a life. George had still barely spoken, processing his grief internally. 

At Harry’s insistence, the memorial service for Severus had been well-attended. Her friend had made it his personal mission to ensure that Snape was exonerated of any charges pertaining to war crimes, and had shared his memories with the Ministry, who had publicised a summary, presenting Severus as some kind of tragic hero. Hermione could not help but think how Severus would have loathed the fawning, sycophantic attention that was being heaped upon his memory. 

It was not a funeral, since there was no body, so a memorial service was held instead in the grounds of Hogwarts, again at Harry’s insistence. She supposed that being the wizard who brought down the Dark Lord came with certain privileges. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had been sworn in as temporary Minister for Magic, conducted the service from a simple table covered with a plain white cloth, with the two halves of Severus’ wand laid upon it. 

The man he described in his eulogy was not the one that she knew. The man she had known was kind yet spiky, intelligent yet naïve, innocent yet sensual, powerful yet gentle. 

As Kingsley instead rolled off Snape’s qualifications and his achievements in a monotone voice, Hermione let her attention drift over to the Black Lake, and the gentle ripples of the dark waters were like the billow of his voluminous cloak as he strode down the school corridors. A tear escaped from her eye. He would never walk those hallways again. 

She turned back abruptly when she noticed that Harry had taken to the front table, and was clearing his throat to address the gathered crowd, seated upon a hundred conjured chairs arranged on the Hogwarts lawns.

“I was terrified of Severus Snape from the moment I caught his eye over the top of the Sorting Hat, when I was eleven,” Harry began, and there were a few small chuckles of agreement amongst those listening. 

“I’m ashamed to say that for many years, I hated him. I misjudged him, over and over again. I never knew his true motives, never knew the full extent of his bravery, until after his death. He did not protect me for thanks, or for recognition, but solely because of a promise he had made, nearly twenty years ago. He was loyal to that promise until the very end. I can proudly say that Severus Snape was the bravest man I ever knew.”

Harry gave a single nod to the crowd to signify that he had finished, and stepped out from behind the table to return to his seat. A light smatter of applause could be heard, but no wild clapping. It was, after all, a memorial service. 

Hermione’s eyes hurt with the pressure of holding back her emotions, and she felt thoroughly sick, and completely bereft. As soon as people began to rise, vanishing their chairs and moving away, she headed swiftly to the front gates with Ginny in hot pursuit, calling after her. As soon as she reached the Apparition point, for McGonagall had raised new wards around the castle grounds when she began her tenure as headmistress, Hermione headed for the Burrow, landing with an inelegant plop in the garden. 

Not able to hold her stomach any longer, she ran behind the chicken shed, ignoring the squawking poultry within, and lost her lunch, her breakfast, and probably last night’s dinner, too. She purged until she had nothing left to give. Ginny appeared, holding out a glass of water, which she took gratefully, rinsing out her rancid mouth. 

“Hermione?” she questioned, gently, tucking her curly hair behind her ears for her. 

“It was … it was so hot, and so stressful,” she muttered, searching for anything that would cover her distress over a single memorial service, when they had attended so many. 

“Hermione?”

Another voice could be heard, female, surprisingly soft. She wasn’t sure she had heard that gentle tone from Molly Weasley before. She looked up, and the older witch looked her straight in the eyes, as if searching for something. 

“Hermione, my dear. I have been watching you the last few weeks. My love, could you possibly be pregnant? When was your last period?”

She felt her eyes open wide with fear, and forced herself to do a quick calculation of her menses. When, when had the last one been? They had been so busy, so caught up in the hunt for Horcruxes, simply staying alive, keeping track of her periods hadn’t exactly been a priority. 

“I … I can’t remember,” she admitted, in defeat. 

She already knew. Molly didn’t need to say anything further. Everything finally made sense – her extreme exhaustion, the crying, the heightened emotions, even vomiting all over Bellatrix Lestrange – all of this could be put down to the after effects of everything they had experienced, but could also point to … to this. 

“Is there any way you can tell for certain?” she asked.

Mrs Weasley nodded and drew her wand, casting it over Hermione’s abdomen with circular movements and murmuring an incantation that she did not recognise. Ginny was standing there staring, bug-eyed in shock, or perhaps excitement. 

After about a minute, a small pink orb puffed from the end of Molly’s wand. It pulsed eleven times, before disappearing into thin air. What did that mean?

“You are expecting, Hermione. A baby girl. And you are roughly eleven weeks into your pregnancy.”

There were tears in Molly’s eyes, and in Ginny’s too. 

Hermione stared at them, urgently counting back, until she arrived at the night that Severus had come to her in the tent, the night in the Forest of Dean where he had laid the sword of Gryffindor for Harry to find. Their coupling had been so frantic, so passionate, so forbidden, so desperate – neither of them had given a thought to casting a contraceptive charm. 

“Please …” she begged, not really sure what she was asking for. “Please, don’t tell anyone else just yet. I need to … I need to think, please.”

Molly drew her into a warm embrace.

“We will not say a word until you are ready, my dear. This must be a huge shock for you. Ginny, take Hermione upstairs to your room before the boys return, she needs a lie-down.”

“Yes, Mum. Come on, Hermione, take my arm. You look as pale as anything. I’ll bring the water with me.”

“I’ll get her a fresh glass, Ginny, and something to help with the nausea. Just take her up.”

Settled on the cosy bed in the room she was sharing with Ginny, the window open to let some air in and her legs raised on a cushion, Hermione began to feel less light-headed and nauseous. Mrs Weasley had brought her up a glass of water and a plate of ginger snaps, which were good for pregnancy sickness, apparently. 

So far, she hadn’t really felt sick, just tired. Her vomiting today was surely due to the heat and emotional upheaval of the memorial service. Feeling her stomach lurch again at the slightest thought of him, provided her with the answer. It was the loss of Severus that was affecting her, the grim finality of his death. And now this. 

Hermione craned her neck to hear Mrs Weasley and Ginny whispering excitedly outside the door. 

“We can’t tell him, Mum. Not yet. That’s not fair to Hermione, she asked us not to.”

Tell who? What? 

Hermione sat up straighter in bed. 

“Well, it looks like it wasn’t all hardship in that tent then!”

“Mum!”

“It’s the truth, Ginny. They must have been up to something, for Hermione to be in that condition.”

“As long as it wasn’t Harry!”

“Don’t be silly, dear. Harry loves you, he wouldn’t do that, and neither would Hermione. I know that Ronald loves Hermione, he’s told me so. It seems she feels the same way, if they have been intimate together. When the time is right for him to know, she will tell him. And he’ll be delighted, I’m sure. They can get married right here at the Burrow, the same as Bill and Fleur did.”

Their voices trailed away and she heard them descend the creaking stairs. 

Molly thought the baby was Ron’s?

-xxx- 

The next few days were their own special kind of awful. Whilst there was cheery news that Hogwarts had not sustained too much irreparable damage, Hermione’s thoughts were consumed entirely by the baby she carried inside her. 

Her and Severus’ baby. 

A baby he would never see, never even know existed. 

Their daughter, who would never know her brave and noble father. 

Thankfully, the sickness seemed to be an isolated incident, so it was just the extreme tiredness to cope with. That, and Mrs Weasley’s knowing looks. 

She forced herself to join in the conversation around the dinner table. Arthur and Percy had plenty of news via the Ministry regarding the Hogwarts rebuild, reporting that the main interior damage was to the entrance hall, the Great Hall, and of course the huge hole that had been blasted in the wall of the seventh floor outside the Room of Requirement. 

Arthur told them delightedly how there were curse marks and other minor damage around the castle, where duellers had run though corridors, but these were being left as a monument to history. It was felt that some cosmetic signs of the battle should remain, with only the essential structural repairs being attended to. 

The outside courtyard that led to the entrance hall had been completely destroyed, and Percy waxed lyrical about how this was being razed to the ground entirely by magic and rebuilt from the soil upwards. He enthused that the school would be open for the new intake on the first of September as always, and that all seventh-year students were being invited to retake the year they had wasted during Snape’s tenure, and take their exams. That would include those Muggle-borns who had not been permitted to return to school. 

If Hermione hadn’t been pregnant with a dead wizard’s baby she might have been more excited. 

What the hell was she supposed to do now? She didn’t want to have a baby, she was only eighteen, turning nineteen at the beginning of the new school year in September. 

She wanted to return to school, to take the year she had missed whilst on the run, and sit her NEWT examinations. That wasn’t something she could do with a baby, particularly one that had no father. But … this was a child who had been created from something beautiful, however accidentally. This baby girl was proof that Severus had loved her, whatever Dumbledore might have said. Surely his daughter deserved the chance to live, that her father had been denied?

“I’ll help you, Hermione.”

Giving herself a little shake, she returned to the conversation that she’d inadvertently zoned out of. Mrs Weasley was smiling indulgently at her. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’ll help you. So that you can return to school. I can see it written all over your face, dear. Don’t worry, my love. I am here.”

She couldn’t respond. Harry and Ron were looking between the two of them with confused looks on their faces, although this wasn’t stopping either of them from shovelling sausage and mash into their mouths at great speed. 

“Why would Hermione need you to help her go back to school, Mum?” Ron mumbled, gravy dripping down his chin. 

“It really is time you told him,” Molly advised, her cheeks pink with excitement. 

“Mrs Weasley, no, it’s not what you think, it’s not … I mean, I’m not …”

“Tell me what?” Ron demanded, his mouth free of food and looking a little worried and angry. 

Hermione could not answer. This dinner was about to be reduced to as much rubble as was currently in Hogwarts’ courtyard. She shook her head, and watched Molly take a deep breath. 

“Hermione is having your baby, Ron,” his mother told him. 

“What?” he shouted, leaping to his feet and pulling his napkin from his neck, where it had been tucked into his shirt. 

“No, she isn’t! That’s not even possible!”

“Ron!” she cried, standing up herself. “I am not having your baby! Your mother has just assumed that.”

His eyes scanned down her body, lingering on her stomach for any signs of a bump that would corroborate his mother’s statement. He would find none, for there was none, as yet. 

“Then why would she say that?”

“Because it is true that I am pregnant.”

“Twelve weeks,” interjected Molly, her face much less excited now.

Ron appeared to be doing some mental Arithmancy in his head, before his face creased up in anger. He looked down at Harry, who was sitting next to him. 

“You fucking bastard,” he hissed, drawing back his fist and punching Harry full in the face, knocking him backwards off the stool he was sitting on, landing him on the stone floor with a nasty thud. 

Ron leapt on top of Harry, lashing out wildly.

“I loved her! You fucking knew that! I knew you were up to something, the pair of you, didn’t I say that?” 

“Ron!” Hermione screamed, rushing around the table to try and yank her friends apart.

Harry was now bellowing back that Ron was talking crap, and it was George, surprisingly, that had leapt from his seat to pull his younger brother away. 

“Stop, Ron!” George shouted, “before you lose both your bloody best mates. Just fucking listen for a minute before you lose it, ok?”

He gave Ron a shake when he didn’t answer. 

“Ok,” he mumbled.

“Ok,” breathed George in relief, and turned to Hermione. 

“Let’s sort this out with minimal fuss. Hermione, feel free to give me yes or no answers, because I really want to finish eating my sausages. Harry, get up, mate. Ron can’t punch that hard, trust me, I know.”

Harry struggled up from the floor, straightening his jumper and his glasses, but neither of them sat down. 

“Hermione, can you confirm, yes or no answers, remember, that you are in fact ‘with child’?” George asked, with all the manner of a Muggle quiz-show host. 

“Yes.”

“And is my youngest brother here the father of that child?”

“No, he’s not.”

“Just a simple No will suffice, remember, sausages – going cold. Hermione, is Harry Potter the father of your child?”

“He’d better fucking not be,” spat Ginny, her arms folded and her face suggesting that she was spoiling for a fight. 

“Language, little sister. Hermione, answer the question. Is that Harry’s baby?”

“No.”

“Do you know who the father of your child is?”

“Yes.”

“And are you going to enlighten us of his identity, before my mother expires from curiosity?”

“No.”

“All done then. I don’t believe anything else is our business, Weasley family. I’ll finish my sausages now, if that’s ok with everyone else? Ron, you might want to apologise to Harry, that hiding was a tad premature.”

George sauntered around the table, sat himself back down in his place, and shoved a large forkful of sausage into his mouth, slipping Hermione a quick wink. Despite the awfulness of the situation, George appearing to regain his personality was like a beautiful light in the gloom. 

“Sorry, mate,” Ron muttered, holding out his hand for Harry to shake. 

“Let’s not worry about it,” Harry replied accepting his handshake. “Hermione, do you want to go somewhere and talk about this?”

“Over my dead body,” exclaimed Mrs Weasley. “All of us have the right to know what on earth is going on here!”

“You have a right to know about my private sex life?” Hermione asked her.

“Don’t be cheeky, young lady. You’ve just cheated me out of a grandchild!”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Hermione couldn’t believe the words that had just left Molly Weasley’s mouth. 

“She’s got a point, Hermione.”

Ron had moved to stand next to his mother, his arms folded, a look of loathing upon his face. His eyes were no longer kind, rather they looked as furious as they had the night he’d walked out on her and Harry in the forest, all those months before. 

“No one has any right to know anything about my life, other than what I choose to tell them,” she stated, assertively, but not rudely.

“I think you’ll find I do, whilst you live under my roof,” Molly shot back.

“Perhaps I’d better change that, then,” Hermione said, quietly.

She slipped her wand from her sleeve in one smooth movement, summoning all her belongings from the bedroom, which flew down the stairs, packing themselves into the beaded bag. It was quite a clever piece of magic actually, not that anyone admired it. Hanging the bag across her body, she side-stepped Ron and walked towards the kitchen door that led out to the garden. 

“Hermione, wait.”

It was Harry, and he gently touched her arm. 

“Hermione. We’ve been together night and day for the best part of a year. We both know that nothing has ever happened between us … physically. I know the same is true for Ron. I also know that approximately three months ago, I can’t remember the exact dates, we were all being held prisoner at Malfoy Manor. It was the only time we were separated. You were tortured, by Bellatrix Lestrange. We heard it.”

She raised her chin, clenching her teeth to keep the tears from falling. She couldn’t reply. What had happened between her and Severus was private. She had no idea what she was going to do, or how she was going to manage it, but what she did know is that it was no one’s business but her own. 

“There were Snatchers there, Hermione. And Greyback. When he forced us into the cellar, he was telling us what he was going to do to you, what he wanted to do. We saw him assault you when we were first captured. Fenrir Greyback, did he rape you? Did any of the Snatchers rape you?”

She swallowed hard, but did not answer. 

“Merlin preserve us, she’s growing the child of that foul werewolf! You need to get to St Mungo’s, Hermione. Rid yourself of the Death Eater filth you carry inside you.” 

Harry took hold of her hands and turned her away from Molly, who was still muttering under her breath.

“Ignore her. She’s upset. But you do need to go to St Mungo’s, no one would expect you to carry on the pregnancy, of course we wouldn’t. I’ll come with you. Whenever you’re ready.”

The tears she had held for so long finally burst free. 

“You are all … unbelievable. I need to get away from here. We need to get away from here. That’s me, and my daughter that I carry. Unexpectedly carrying, yes, but no less welcome.”

Hermione wrenched the door open and stalked down the garden path in a great fury, unlatching the gate and reaching the Apparition point. A quick glance showed that no one was following her. They were letting her go. 

Which left her with only one possible destination to head for.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Everyone grows up. We were just children when the worst was asked of us, especially you. We found strength in each other, and we kept each other alive. But Harry, we all survived, and we should all move on, live our lives that we are lucky to have.”

As Hermione landed heavily from her angry Apparition, the familiar smell of the Forbidden Forest hit her nostrils and she inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of summer flowers, lush green trees and dry wood. It was so intoxicating that she wondered if her pregnancy was causing her to be more sensitive to the smells around her. 

The familiar boar-topped iron gates of Hogwarts castle stood tall and intimidating high above her, their magical protection now firmly back in place since Professor McGonagall had taken the helm of the school. Hermione wasn’t scared, however. In fact, she felt relieved. The cloying atmosphere at the Weasleys, being under constant scrutiny from Molly had been negative and depressing. 

She understood, completely understood, that the big-hearted family were grieving acutely, not only for their son and brother, but also a great many of their friends. Their lives had been turned upside-down by both wars, and yet they had welcomed herself and Harry into their fold without a second thought. Molly Weasley was a kind, generous and fiercely protective witch and mother. No one who had seen her duel Bellatrix Lestrange into the ground in order to protect her daughter could deny that. 

Hermione was angry at how both Molly and Ron had behaved that evening, but in all honestly could she really blame them? Molly had talked herself into believing that Hermione was about to shine a light of hope into her dark world, and to have that hope dashed had been so devastating that she had lashed out in return. 

Ron loved her. She knew that, and had known that for a long time. There had been a time, at the beginning of sixth year, before things had started with Severus and before Ron had tied himself to Lavender Brown, that she thought she’d fancied him in return. It was a very short-lived affection. 

His behaviour whilst they were on the run, his insane jealousy, his anger, and his suspicion that her and Harry were having a secret relationship right under his nose, walking out and leaving them – all those things – plus her feelings for Severus, meant that there was no possibility of herself and Ronald ever being more than friends. 

He wanted more, that much was evident from his attack on Harry, earlier. She did not. And that was the end of the matter, however much it disappointed Ron or Molly. 

And Harry! He at least had tried to be supportive, and she supposed that allowing him to believe that she had become pregnant following a rape by a vicious werewolf had forced him to offer the advice that he had. 

But just because she understood, didn’t mean she had to live with it. She was not ready to share a single detail of her relationship with Severus with anyone. There had been no other sensible choice to make than what she had done, and that was to leave. 

Reaching for the iron chain that was attached to the visitors’ bell, she pulled down on it hard. This would ring inside Hagrid’s hut, for in addition to being the Hogwarts gamekeeper, he was also the Keeper of Keys. Hagrid would determine which visitors were permitted through the school gates. 

It did not take long before she saw the huge half-giant lumbering down from his hut, the ever-present and loyal Fang by his side. His hairy face lit up as he came near enough to see that it was Hermione at the gates, and he sped up his stride in order that he might reach her faster. 

“Fang, look, it’s our ‘Ermione!”

He was beaming broadly as he unlocked the gates to allow her entrance on to the school grounds, fastening them securely behind her. Once he had done so, he turned to her and held out his arms, and she flew into them gratefully, secure in the folds of his huge overcoat, that smelt reassuringly disgusting as usual. Her eyes pricked with tears. 

“Now, now, what’s all this?” he asked, seeing a tear trickle down her cheek. 

“I’m just being silly. It’s nothing.”

“Looks like a big nothing to me. What’s happened, not that Ron Weasley hurtin’ yer feelings again, I hope?”

She gave a weak smile. 

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose. Hagrid, which members of staff are here? I know it’s the summer holidays.”

“Bit different this year, ‘Ermione. With everything what happened to the school and all, they’ve all stayed here. Every last one of ‘em.”

“Professor McGonagall?” she asked, hopefully. 

“She’s here. Want to me take you to her?”

“Please. Yes please, Hagrid. I really need to speak to her.”

“Right you are.”

He began to walk her up the hill towards the school, the grounds looking wonderful in the summer sunshine. She found that her legs were tiring more quickly than they used to on the long walk, could this be another side-effect of pregnancy, or just getting a bit older? 

As they approached the castle, she saw the devastated courtyard for the first time since the battle, and gasped. What used to be an enormous and imposing stone edifice was now nothing but a square crater in the ground, and there was a team of Ministry workers on the site, painstakingly moving bricks into place using their wands and their hands, from an enormous pile of bricks and slates that must have been delivered, goodness knows where from. 

Walking through the entrance hall was equally shocking, although in a different way. The last time she had stood in this hall it had been a scene of desecration. Today, it looked as much the same as it ever had. The floors had been cleaned, the staircase mended, the portraits back in their places. The hourglasses were repaired and empty, ready for the new term – the emeralds for Slytherin, diamonds for Hufflepuff, sapphires for Ravenclaw and of course, rubies for Gryffindor were all stored in the glass containers above, ready to fall into the huge glass tubes when points were awarded. 

The corridors that she and Hagrid walked through bore the evident signs of the battle that had raged within, but were now clean, swept, mended and almost as they had been before. Clearly the school staff and the Ministry workers had put great effort into restoring the castle to its former glory, but with respect and deference for the battle that had been fought there, preserving it in history. 

They were soon at the Headmistress’ office, Hagrid requesting entrance for the two of them, and the spiral staircase spun to admit them. 

“Hagrid, what brings you here … oh, and Miss Granger. Well hello, dear. This is a surprise, but a pleasant one. Do come in. What can I do for you?”

Hermione turned to look at Hagrid, needing to talk to her Head of House alone. He picked up on her non-verbal cue straight away. 

“I’ll be going now, ‘Ermione. Come and see me before yer go, yes?”

“Of course, I will. Thank you, Hagrid.”

He ruffled her hair and smiled down at her as if she was still twelve years old, before leaving the office and closing the door behind him. 

“Sit down, Miss Granger.”

McGonagall indicated the two armchairs before the fireplace, rather than offering Hermione a seat across the desk from her, and she sank gratefully into it. 

“Tea?”

“Oh goodness, yes please.”

The professor placed an order for tea through the Floo, and then turned her eyes sharply upon Hermione. 

“Should I presume, from your red eyes and pale face, that this is not merely a social call, Miss Granger?”

Hermione shook her head.

“No, it isn’t, Professor. I have a problem, and I need to ask for your help. It is … it’s quite a big ask, I’m afraid.”

“Miss Granger. Hermione, if I may? You have been my pride and joy since you started at Hogwarts when you were eleven. I have no doubt that you will graduate next year with some of the highest NEWT scores ever known. If there is anything I can to assist you, be assured that I shall, if it is within my power to do so.”

Hermione’s eyes flicked up at the portrait of Dumbledore, who was silent, but clearly listening intently to their exchange. 

“I have nowhere to live, Professor. As the war reached its final stages I was advised to remove my parents to a place of safety due to crimes against the families of Muggle-born witches and wizards. This involved me sending them out of the country, and selling our family home.”

“I was told that both yourself and Potter had been taken in by Molly and Arthur Weasley?”

“We have, I mean, Harry is still there. But I can no longer live there.”

“I will have to ask you why, Hermione?”

She took a deep breath. 

“Because I am expecting a baby, Professor. A baby that was conceived unexpectedly during the months I was in hiding with Harry and Ron. I am due at the end of December.”

The expression of total shock and horror on McGonagall’s face would have been funny, had the situation not been so terribly serious. Her Head of House appeared to be collecting her thoughts, taking care to choose her next words sensitively. 

“My apologies for asking, but is Mr Weasley or Mr Potter the father of this child? Och, Merlin, please don’t be telling me that you do not know which of them it is?”

“I do know exactly who this baby’s father is, and it is not Harry or Ron.”

The headmistress’ eyes widened in shock. Behind her head, Hermione could see Dumbledore press his hand to his forehead, shaking his head in what appeared to be disbelief. 

“Can I ask …?”

“Who? You can ask, but I am not ready to divulge that, not yet. Rest assured that her father is not a Snatcher, nor a werewolf, as Mrs Weasley appears to think.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. 

“I was tortured at Malfoy Manor. Harry and Ron heard Fenrir Greyback assaulting me. Whilst it was dreadful, he did nothing to me that would have resulted in the conception of a child.”

“Oh, Hermione. What a time you have had of it. But, my dear, you said her father?”

“Molly cast a Revelio upon me. I am pregnant with a baby girl.”

Dumbledore’s portrait let out a cry of what appeared to be tortured pain. McGonagall was upon it in an instant, leaping from her chair in a sprightly manner that belied her age, facing down her predecessor. 

“Albus Dumbledore! As I live and breathe, you know something about all this business don’t you, you interfering, meddling old coot?”

He ignored her rant, and turned to Hermione. 

“Miss Granger. Am I to presume that I know whom fathered this child?”

She nodded, curtly, not trusting herself to speak to the wizard who had so angered her the last time they had spoken. He returned her nod, and turned his attention back to McGonagall. 

“Minerva. Miss Granger deserves, and will receive, our full support and protection. Offer her a home in the castle, whether school is in session or not. It will be imperative that she is looked after during her pregnancy, for a pregnant student walking the halls of Hogwarts will be an oddity, a target for gossip and bullying.”

“And I am meant to simply do this with no explanation, Albus? It may have escaped your notice, but you are dead now, and I am the headmistress of this school.”

“Do you trust me, Minerva?”

“Not always your methods, but the truth of your heart, yes,” she sighed. “Very well. I shall make arrangements for Hermione. But I do expect, that in the fullness of time I will be told the full truth, including how you appear to know everything about this, Albus?”

The portrait nodded at her, gravely.

Standing behind her desk, she clapped her hands to summon a house-elf. 

“Take Miss Granger to the guest wing, and ensconce her in one of the Gryffindor suites, please.”

The small elf nodded, and held out his hand for Hermione to take. 

“Miss Granger?”

“Yes?”

“I suggest that you use the guest suite where you will now be taken as your room for the next school year. I do not think it would be fair on anyone, least of all yourself, for a pregnant witch to board amongst the other students in Gryffindor Tower. In addition, once your child is born, you will need the space for a baby alongside yourself. Rest assured, Hogwarts will provide you with the support you need to care for the child so you can complete your NEWT course. Are you able to finance your own studies?”

“I am. I have a good savings account at Gringotts, also a Muggle bank account.”

“Very well. Over the summer perhaps you would be happy to assist the staff to ensure the castle is ready for the first of September?”

Hermione’s heart leapt. 

“I would love that.”

“I thought you might.”

McGonagall’s cat-like eyes roved over her, as if looking for a chink in the armour of her calm exterior. The headmistress could not know that she was paddling frantically like a duck’s legs beneath the water. 

“This will not be easy for you, Hermione.”

“I know that. I am only just getting used to the idea myself. Having a baby at nineteen wasn’t anywhere in my life plan.”

“And have you considered not having this baby? You do have options.”

“I cannot do that. My daughter deserves all the chances that were denied to her father.”

It was enough to send McGonagall’s brain spinning with possibilities as the house-elf Apparated her away. 

-xxx-

Hermione stretched out her legs on the long, squashy sofa in the library, where Harry had just left after a long visit. She was alone, although Madam Pince had been popping in and out at various intervals, for Hermione had been assisting the austere librarian to prepare the huge, cavernous library ready for the start of the new school term the following week. Around the country, the first-years were undoubtedly packing their trunks, excited for this new chapter of their lives. 

And what about this new chapter of her own life? Looking down at her stomach, she could now see a discernible roundness, a swelling that occasionally fluttered and bubbled inside her. She had begun to enjoy cradling her tiny bump with one hand whilst she devoured a book with the other, feeling the baby calm with her own relaxed breathing as she enjoyed her favourite hobby. 

Right now, she was not feeling too calm. She was feeling sad, and scared. 

This had been the first time she had seen Harry since moving into the castle, although she had done him the courtesy of sending an owl to advise him, Ron and anyone else who cared of her whereabouts. 

George, bless him, had sent her a pink pygmy puff toy for the baby, which was a kind gesture, slightly marred by the rubber chicken and giant pair of hag-size knickers that were also in the parcel, but it had made her laugh, and given her a feeling of positivity that George was taking steps to regain himself after the loss of Fred. 

Harry had owled her regularly, and Ron had sent a couple, so she had invited them both to visit her before school started. Only Harry had taken up the offer, and the two of them had spent the afternoon here in the library.

They had embraced, and Harry had expressed surprise at finally being able to see her visible pregnancy. He had then admitted that neither he nor Ron would be returning to join her at Hogwarts to complete their seventh year. The Ministry, he explained, was offering complimentary NEWT certificates to their entire year group, meaning that there was no need for either of them to undertake any more study. 

He had been offered a position playing professional Quidditch for a team she couldn’t recall the name of, and Ron would be working alongside George in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and living above the shop in Diagon Alley. 

“Why doesn’t Ron want to play Quidditch?”

Harry had turned red. 

“He, um, he wants to stay in London so that he’s close to St Mungo’s. He’s been visiting, er, Lavender every day. They’re really different together now, Hermione. She’s a different person.”

He’d explained that Lavender had sustained dreadful injuries to her face, neck and upper body from Greyback’s attack on her during the battle.

“When you fired that Entrail-Expelling curse at Greyback, it saved her life,” Harry said. “Lavender knows that.”

Apparently, Ron had been providing quiet support as Lavender adjusted to the fact she was no longer beautiful, could no longer rely on her ample charms to get her own way. Harry believed that Ron was now genuinely in love with her. 

“I see he’s expanded his emotional range from that of a teaspoon,” she had joked, and he’d laughed along with her. 

“We’re all going our separate ways, Hermione,” he had said, with a finality that had made her heart sink.

“I know. It would always have happened, Harry. That is life.”

“The three of us were so close. We went through so much together.”

“We did, and that will never change, can never be taken away from us. But everyone grows up. We were just children when the worst was asked of us, especially you. We found strength in each other, and we kept each other alive. But Harry, we all survived, and we should all move on and live our lives, that we are lucky to have.”

His green eyes were full of sorrow and regret as he fixed them on hers. 

“Who is going to bring up this baby with you, Hermione?”

“It is not possible for me to do this any way but alone, Harry.”

He sighed, knowing that she was not going to tell him who the baby’s father was. 

“You’ll owl me if you need anything?”

“Of course.”

He got to his feet, and pulled her to standing. 

“Thank you, Hermione Granger. Just … thank you. For saving my arse more times that I can count.”

She smiled, accepting his heartfelt thanks. 

“You are very welcome, Harry Potter.”

-xxx-

Hermione allowed herself to indulge in a little cry after her friend had left, before pushing herself up from the sofa and returning to her task of checking the shelves to make sure every book was in the exact right order, alphabetical in name and aisles arranged in subject matter, a fairly banal task that succeeded in keeping her mind occupied. 

Passing the metal grille of the Restricted Section, she couldn’t help but linger outside, running her fingers lightly across the locked gate, remembering the time she had hidden at the small table at the back, searching for the tiny book that would grant her entrance to Slytherin’s chamber. She couldn’t help but blush as she recalled their erotic exploits in that room, closing her eyes as she remembered the feeling of being encircled in Severus’ strong, capable arms, the smell of his skin as it melted against hers, the powerful desperation of his kisses and the all-consuming passion of his lovemaking. 

“Miss Granger?”

She jumped, and hurriedly wiped the tears from her eyes as she realised that Madam Pince was behind her. 

“I’m sorry, Madam Pince, I got distracted. I’ll get straight back to it,” she mumbled, turning back to the shelf she had been heading for. 

“Hermione.”

She looked over her shoulder to where Pince still stood. 

“Come with me.”

Hermione followed the librarian back to her desk, where the older witch flicked her wand first at the main door to lock it, and then at the small blackboard to the left of her desk, that she mainly used to lecture groups of first-years when introducing them to the rules and regulations of the school library.

Picking up a piece of chalk, she wrote her own name across the blackboard. 

IRMA PINCE. 

Hermione looked at her in confusion. 

Madam Pince cast a Revelio charm in a wide sweeping arc across the words she had just written in white chalk. The letters began to rearrange themselves. 

I-M A P-R-I-N-C-E.

“My name, Miss Granger, is Eileen Prince.”

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth in shock. 

“I was forced to change my name to avoid being implicated in my husband’s death. Do you know of whom I am speaking?”

“Tobias Snape,” Hermione replied, her voice barely more than a whisper. 

“I believe my son told you about him?”

“Your son …”

“I have worked here in the Hogwarts library for many years now, for one reason only, and that is to watch over my son. Watch as he was used and controlled, alienated and loathed. The only exception were the months he spent with you, Miss Granger. Months that filled Severus with a joy I have never seen before.”

Hermione was weeping openly now, her body flooding with pregnancy hormones and the shock of the discovery was just too much for her emotions to bear. 

“I can tell you, that however inappropriate your relationship was, that my son loved you very deeply, whatever else you have been told.”

“But … Lily?”

Eileen sneered, in a way that was so reminiscent of Severus that it made her stomach lurch.

“The Evans girl was his childhood fantasy, nothing but an adolescent crush. My son blamed himself for her untimely death, and attempting to appease his guilt, he instead sealed his own fate.”

Hermione sat down on the edge of the librarian’s desk with a thump, blood rushing to her head and pounding in her ears. 

Madam Pince – Eileen Prince – approached her and gently took hold of one of her hands. Hermione looked up, and realised for the first time just how very like his mother Severus had been. The same hooked nose, the same elegantly arched eyebrows, the same jet-black hair, although hers was liberally streaked with grey. 

“Hermione. Would I be right in thinking that you carry my grandchild inside you?”

Her throat constricted with want, with the need to share her secret. She had told no one.

“You are,” she admitted, “you are right. This is Severus’ child. His daughter.”

“Oh, my love,” the older woman sobbed, covering her mouth with her hand. “My sweet girl. You have told no one. Please, I beg you, please allow me to help and support you. Severus would want that.”

The stress and strain of the last months, the pressure of a secret she had forced herself to keep, broke like a dam in the face of the kind words from Eileen Prince. The only blood relative, besides herself, that this child would ever have. 

The two witches clasped hands, entwining their fingers and clutching desperately to one another, tears spilling freely from both their eyes. 

“Anything my granddaughter needs, I shall provide. Be assured of that.”

Hermione nodded in gratitude, unable to form a coherent reply. 

But for the first time in a very long time, she felt safe.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even now, there was a large, noisy contingent of witches and wizards who believed that Snape should be remembered only as a Death Eater, a vicious murderer, and a traitor to the Light. His much deserved post-humous Order of Merlin had been denied, due to the vociferous backlash against his actions.

Hermione returned to her chambers in the guest wing of Hogwarts castle in thoughtful mood after her emotional, but strangely pleasant, encounter with Madam Pince. She had promised the librarian that she would not call her by anything but her agreed name, for her own security, but Eileen had invited her to the cottage in Hogsmeade for afternoon tea the following day, where they could speak freely, and where she had promised to tell Hermione more about her son’s childhood, and the years she had worked secretly alongside himself at school. 

Buoyed by the thought of hearing more about Severus, Hermione felt more energised than she had in weeks as she cleaned her teeth and prepared for bed. She’d had a light supper delivered by a quiet little house-elf, and it was still relatively early, but her pregnant body was demanding rest, so sleep it must be. 

The room that Professor McGonagall had placed her in was lovely, far nicer and obviously much more private than living in Gryffindor Tower. The small four-poster bed was a little larger than the dormitory beds, and was hung with scarlet and gold drapes that matched the curtains at the window, which looked out over the front lawns and down at the work going on in the courtyard that she was finding rather entertaining to watch. 

The attached bathroom was tiny, nothing more than a sink, toilet, bathtub, and square foot of standing space, but it was private and that was a huge bonus at present. Hermione couldn’t imagine that a huge pregnant girl bobbing around in the prefects’ bath would be particularly acceptable – although the thought did sound wonderful, she’d have to try and arrange a late-night swim, thinking with a pang of the last time she’d done that, and with whom. 

There was a small fireplace with two armchairs either side of it, and a thick scarlet rug upon the hearth. There was plenty of space to keep her clothes in a heavy wooden armoire, a single chest of drawers with a mirror above, and she had finally unpacked her books from the beaded bag on to the large bookshelf, for which she was truly grateful. Two books about magical pregnancy had also joined her collection, ordered by owl from Flourish and Blotts and delivered to her at the castle, as she had thought it prudent to educate herself about what was to come. 

Hermione had learned about trimesters and morning sickness, bumps and babies, and far more than she would ever have wanted to know about giving birth. Even magically aided, it still didn’t sound like an experience she was particularly looking forward to. She tried not to think about it, and wondered if her new relationship with Eileen would mean that the child’s grandmother would be willing to help and advise her? She hoped so. 

Her new-found energy, she read, was an effect that many mothers-to-be often noticed during the second trimester, a period where they felt healthy and vital, and their bump was still small and not weighing them down. Hermione resolved to enjoy this middle bit, as the last trimester didn’t sound fun at all.

Having not left the castle since she’d arrived from the Burrow, she was keenly looking forward to taking a stroll into Hogsmeade village the following day. She planned to leave the castle early and spend some time browsing in the shops, perhaps looking for a small gift to take to Eileen when she visited. 

Being honest, Hermione hadn’t really missed the outside world that much. There had been so much to do at the school that she had found herself much in demand by the professors, who all enjoyed having an extra pair of hands, especially her capable and organised ones, to arrange their classrooms and prepare everything that was needed for the new and returning students. She had made herself useful and begun to feel quite at home. 

Slipping into bed, enjoying the feeling of being enveloped in the familiar sheets and quilt, a gentle quickening rippled across her stomach, and she placed both her palms on top of her tiny bump. 

“Hello, my angel,” she murmured, unconsciously using what had been Severus’ affectionate name for her, as she stroked her bare skin. “I know you’re there.”

Hermione fell asleep with her hands still folded protectively across her. 

-xxx-

Hogsmeade was pleasantly busy as Hermione strolled along the small high street, window shopping in Scrivenshaft’s and popping into Honeydukes to purchase a gift box of assorted chocolates as a gift for Eileen. The late-August weather was warm enough for her simple white floral shift dress and a pair of flat pumps to be sufficient to keep her covered and comfortable. As she walked, Hermione gathered her long hair into a messy bun at the back of her head, not really caring that a few curls were already working their way loose – it was a hot day. 

She couldn’t help popping into the Three Broomsticks for an ice-cold lemonade, and was greeting warmly by Madam Rosmerta, who appeared not to notice her little bump that was visible behind her dress, and if she had noticed, did not mention it. Perhaps the barkeep simply thought she’d put on a bit of weight in the last year. Hermione sat at the bar and discussed the castle repairs with Rosmerta in between the older witch serving other customers. It all felt delightfully normal, and she actually began to look forward to the new school term starting the following week. 

Reality hit as she was following the directions that Eileen had written down on a piece of parchment, to guide Hermione to her cottage home at the edge of the magical village. 

It was not simply ‘returning to school’.

She had missed a whole year whilst living rough, on the run, hunting Horcruxes. Many of her classmates were either dead or not returning to school, the lure of the complimentary NEWTs too tempting to resist. Her year would also be joined with the existing seventh-years making the NEWT classes therefore bigger, not smaller. Not the mention the burgeoning fact of the little girl that was currently growing inside her. 

How much longer could she keep her secret? Why should it be a secret at all? 

Because it has to be, she thought. 

She could not ruin Severus’ reputation when Harry had fought so hard to clear his name after the final battle. 

To have it revealed that he had been sleeping with a student, for that part would certainly come out if she revealed she was expecting Snape’s child, would besmirch everything that Harry had tried to do to honour him. No, she could not do that to his memory. 

Even now, there was a large, noisy contingent of witches and wizards who believed that Snape should be remembered only as a Death Eater, a vicious murderer, and a traitor to the Light. His much deserved post-humous Order of Merlin had been denied, due to the vociferous backlash against his actions. 

Harry hoped to petition the Ministry again in the future about the award, but opinion against Snape was just too divided at present. 

She counted the cottages until she reached the last-but-one, a thatched house with a pretty little garden out the front. Creaking open the gate and walking down the stepping-stone path, Hermione knocked on the green door with a gentle tap. It was opened by Madam Pince - Eileen immediately, strangely standing there with her bag in hand and wearing a summer travelling cloak, looking as if she were going out. 

“Miss Granger,” she whispered, urgently, “I apologise for it being this way, but I couldn’t breathe a word up at the school, it would have been too risky.”

Hermione’s heart lurched in fear, her reflexes honed for danger, well-trained over the last year. 

“I don’t understand?”

“You will, dear. Just go into the sitting room. Straight ahead of you.”

She ushered Hermione into the hallway and neatly side-stepped her out of the door. 

“Straight ahead of you.”

Eileen closed her own front door quietly behind her, leaving Hermione standing in the hallway holding a box of Honeydukes chocolates. Resisting the urge to tear the door open and follow her, she gathered her Gryffindor nerve and walked slowly down the short hallway, pushing open the door at the end, which led her into a sitting room filled with natural light that spilled in from the back garden, where an oasis of flowers could be seen around the circular lawn.

“Don’t be scared,” came a low, achingly-familiar voice, deep and sonorous, but with a husky edge to it. 

Hermione dropped the chocolates right there on the floor and spun around to face the armchair in front of the unlit fire, drawing her wand from the concealed sheath on her dress and holding it out in front of her as she backed away. 

The barefooted man that was seated there, wearing a black t-shirt and trousers, his long raven hair falling around his face, was certainly not, could never be, Severus Snape. 

What in Merlin’s name had Eileen Prince, if indeed that was her name, set up here? 

“Don’t shoot,” he murmured, and she could see that he was holding so tightly to the arms of the chair that his knuckles were white. 

Those familiar eyes were boring into hers, as black as coals. 

“You’re dead,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I saw you die.”

“You saw me lose consciousness from extreme blood loss.”

“No one could have survived that attack.”

“I believe you have met my mother? She refused to allow me to die.”

“Why did you never tell me about her before? How did she save you? Who are you, and is Madam Pince even your mother, or is this some sick hoax you have cooked up between the two of you? Answer me!”

The hand holding out her wand trembled violently, but she kept it pointing to the centre of his chest, clenching her teeth and feeling her heart pound nauseatingly fast inside her. He had not taken his eyes from hers, and the memory of how their volcanic blackness used to bore into her very soul was prominent in her mind. 

“My name is Severus Snape,” he began, in a slow, quiet voice. “I was a professor, and then headmaster, of Hogwarts school. I remained loyal to the wishes of Albus Dumbledore throughout the duration of the second wizarding war, and was believed murdered by Tom Riddle’s snake in the Shrieking Shack. My mother, Eileen Prince, a woman you formerly knew as Irma Pince, saved my life after I was attacked, and her method of doing so I will explain fully once you believe who I am.”

“How can I do that? How can I trust that it is really you?”

“Hermione,” he began, gently, in that heady voice that was already caressing her ears like warm chocolate. “I was instructed by Dumbledore to train you in Occlumency, which you mastered remarkably quickly. Your first successful visualisation was that of a castle drawbridge closing. You then progressed to using a white mist, or steam, to conceal your thoughts. You managed, to my disgust, to Legilimise against me.”

She began to lower her wand unconsciously, wanting to hear more, wanting desperately to trust what this man was saying, wanting it to be him, for Severus to somehow not be dead, but she needed to protect her own heart and sanity at the same time. 

“Keep going,” she whispered. 

“The first time I touched you was when you allowed me to put my fingers inside you after viewing my thoughts and seeing that I desired you. It happened right there in my Defence classroom. It was the most sublime moment of my life. I then gave you my virginity in my own bedchamber at Hogwarts. One of my favourite memories is of fucking you on my kitchen worktop after tea and toast. Another is the night we welcomed the New Year in the prefects’ bath. Your breasts are my life dream to hold, and you sing like an angel when you climax.”

Her tears were flowing freely now. 

“You are the only woman I have ever taken into Slytherin’s chamber, and you took an apple and ate only one bite.”

“Oh, my goodness …” 

She dropped her wand, and covered her mouth with her hand. 

“Your worst fear is forgetting to hand in your homework, although I should imagine that has changed somewhat, now.”

“Oh, Severus …”

“Your hair chokes me like Devil’s Snare in the night, and yet I find it does not worry me.”

She began to step towards him. 

“You once gave up your Christmas holiday with your family to spend it with me.”

He stood up, a little stiffly, and met her in the middle of the room. 

“That’s right,” she whispered, as he reached her, and she lifted her hand to touch his cheek, watching his eyes close in pleasure at her touch. “I did.”

“It was the kindest thing anyone has ever had done for me.”

“It is you. It is really you.”

He raised his hands and wiped away the tears that were dribbling down her cheeks, using his thumbs, holding her face with his long fingers as his eyes roved all over it, drinking in the sight of her. 

“It is me, indeed,” he confirmed.

“Please …” she whispered.

“Whatever you desire of me.”

“You know.”

“Perhaps I do.”

His last words were nothing but a whisper as he leaned forwards, still cupping her face in his hands, and slowly dropped his mouth to hers, lightly bumping his lips against her own. 

Hermione let out a sob, an anguished, choked sound of desperate relief as she felt the soft touch of his lips brushing agonisingly slowly over hers, something she had never dared to dream that she might feel again. 

“My angel,” he growled, removing his hands from her face and wrapping them tightly around her, pulling her close and reassuring her of his physical presence, of his reality. 

It was him. 

The familiar planes of his chest, the way that her curves fitted so perfectly against his own, the feel of his breath against her ear as he pushed his long nose into her hair, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance. She tilted her chin up to look at him, and he bent his neck to kiss her, a wonderful, warming kiss that massaged her lips and welcomed her home. 

Keeping her held tightly against him, Severus flickered his tongue out to open her mouth, and she willingly did the same, sighing in blissful relief at the familiarity of being joined to him in this way. Her arms snaked around his back and began to stroke the hard lines there, feeling the uneven skin through the thin black cloth of his shirt as he moaned softly in pleasure at her touch. 

She held him as tightly as he was holding her, and soon began to feel tears drop on to her face that were not her own. He was crying. It mattered not, as they continued to kiss one another, sobbing into one another’s mouths, welcoming each other home. 

Severus looked down at the beautiful witch in his arms, her eyes red from crying, as he supposed his own must be too. Not only had he survived, against some fairly remote odds, but Hermione Granger was back in his arms. 

“I believe that you have a story to tell me, Severus,” she said, “and I am ready to hear it, if you are ready to tell it?”

Keeping his arms around her, he guided her towards the long sofa in front of the windows, where they had a fine view of his mother’s precious garden, which she tended with love and care. 

He sat down in the corner of the sofa, and she hopped up next to him, slipping off her shoes and crossing her legs as she had always done when they’d sat in his office at school. His heart lurched at the memory, and he reached for her hand. He cleared his throat with a little difficulty, for he was not completely back to normal after the snake’s attack, but a scratchy throat was certainly better than the alternative. 

“After I left you outside the Chamber of Secrets, I was forced to join the other Death Eaters in battle,” he began. “I made sure the hood of my robes and my mask were secured in place with a sticking charm, so that none of the students or staff could discover my identity. I sent wild jinxes and hexes, all designed to miss their marks, or else hit a Death Eater. I was forced to land some hits upon the fighters, for it would have aroused suspicion otherwise, but tried to do minimal damage. 

The Dark Lord sent Lucius Malfoy to collect me from the battle. As soon as I saw where he had taken me, that Voldemort and I were alone in the Shrieking Shack, with that damned snake in the protective dome, I knew.”

“Knew what? That he was going to kill you?”

“I always thought, I know not why, but thought that Riddle would eventually use the snake against me. I was a loyal servant, and although he would raise his wand to me in punishment arbitrarily, I believed he would never cast a killing curse upon me. For that reason, I always carried, amongst the other potions I kept secreted in my robes, a vial of the bespoke anti-venin that I created for Arthur Weasley when he was attacked by Nagini.”

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth.

“You had the anti-venin in your cloak? I could have given it to you!”

Severus shook his head, and stroked her hand that was enclosed in his. 

“I had already taken a dose, when the battle first began, suspecting that if I wasn’t killed by my staff or students that an attack on me from Riddle was inevitable, and that the snake was likely to be involved. There was a second vial in my cloak, but at that point I would not have been able to take it, since my throat was ripped open.”

She winced at his graphic words, keeping her mouth covered and urging him to continue.

“You saw everything that occurred between myself and the Dark Lord in the Shrieking Shack? You heard his reasons and his grotesque parody of regret?”

“I did. We were under Harry’s invisibility cloak. Me, Harry and Ron.”

“That must have been … difficult to watch.”

“It was the worst moment of my life. You looked terrified, but so calm, so dignified. I wept for you, Severus.”

He tightened his grip on her hands, wanting to keep bodily contact with her. Granger would be lucky if he ever let go. 

“I remember giving my memories to Potter, I remember the touch of your hand, telling me in the only way that you could, that you were there with me. It gave me the courage I needed to die, Hermione.”

“But you didn’t die.”

“I did not. Unbeknown to me, my mother had heard the commotion from her home here in Hogsmeade that night, and had entered the castle via the secret passage from the Hogs Head, along with the Order, and other villagers who had arrived to assist with the battle. Disillusioned, and not joining the fray, she had attempted to keep track of my movements as I moved about the castle and grounds. She tells me that she watched Potter take down Voldemort in the Great Hall, and heard the bastard talk of how he had killed me. She did not wait, but came straight down here to find me unconscious, but alive.”

“How is it even possible for you to have still been alive?”

“It is possible, Miss Granger, because a certain someone had the presence of mind to apply an enormous amount of dittany to my neck and press a scarf to the wound, thus beginning the closure of the wound and additionally slowing the rate at which the blood was leaving my body.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the thin scarf that she had been wearing that night, even oft-washed it was still clearly covered in his bloodstains. She had helped to save his life? 

“I shall buy you another to replace this one that I ruined.”

She began to sob again, shaking her head and not attempting to stem the flow of tears that tracked down her face. 

“How did Eileen manage to heal you, though? It was an appalling injury.”

Severus pulled the collar of his shirt aside to reveal a criss-cross pattern of scars on his neck and throat in various stages of healing, but nothing like the extreme devastation she had been expecting. 

“My mother had to work quickly, for she could not risk someone coming back to finish the job, or my body being taken and defiled. Since the castle wards were down, she Apparated me directly to a Muggle hospital, the same one in fact, where she had attended many times after my father had injured her. Giving false names and telling them a story that I had been repeatedly stabbed in the neck by a man armed with a knife, who had robbed us, they took me into surgery, where I was operated on with skill and speed. The Muggle surgeon painstakingly repaired my throat, layer by layer, and I received a transfusion of several pints of blood. After two weeks in hospital, I was healed enough to return home, so my mother drew the curtains around the bed and Apparated us here.”

“You just left.”

“I had no other choice. I have since made a large charitable donation to the trust of that hospital under the false name I gave that night.”

“Oh. That’s a nice idea.”

“It was the least I could do, after being forced to leave the way I did. They saved my life, but I could not have stayed longer, too many questions would have been asked, and checks on my identity would have been made. I had received a visit from an occupational therapist, needing more details, so we knew it was time to leave.

Once we were home, I began the process of my physical and mental recovery. Using my mother’s wand, I have been performing revisions of my scars at regular intervals to improve their appearance, and I took anti-venin for the first month to ensure that all Nagini’s poison was neutralised.”

“Your wand! It was found, snapped?”

“A masterstroke of my mother’s. Knowing the censure that I would face once the war was over, whichever side was victorious, she made a choice to hide me, so that if I survived I would be free to choose my own path, rather than face retribution or punishment. If I had used my wand, the Ministry would have known immediately, so she snapped it and pointedly left it at the scene of my presumed death. I now have choices, due to her actions.” 

“This is all so hard to take in.”

“There is no rush.”

“Well, actually,” she answered, looking embarrassed, “there is more of a time pressure than you might think.”

Severus had no idea what she was talking about, and cocked his head to the side, quizzically. Hermione gulped, knowing that he had not noticed the swell of her stomach when she had walked in, not at all, his eyes had been far too focused on her face, and then she had been in his arms. She stood up, standing in front of him, and smoothed her dress over the small bump that contained their child. 

He was utterly silent, and could not remove his eyes from her belly. 

“The night in the tent,” she whispered. “The night you delivered the sword to Harry. We did not cast the contraceptive charm. Eileen did not tell you?”

His eyes wide, he shook his head, and he reached out a hand to touch her stomach, touching it with the tips of three fingers, as if he did not believe it was real. 

“I suppose she believed it was not her news to tell. Go ahead, touch as much as you would like,” she urged. 

Lifting his other hand, he cupped the swell of her belly and held it with wonder, in the palm of his hand. 

“This cannot be true,” Severus murmured, “and yet here is the evidence before me.”

Hermione allowed him to run his hands over her stomach, stroking and caressing as if trying to memorise every curve. He was meeting his daughter for the first time – they needed time to get acquainted. 

At length, Severus leaned forwards, planting his bare feet on the floor and pressed his lips to her stomach. 

“I have no doubt that I shall be a horrendous father, Hermione. But I promise you my unwavering support and … and myself, should you require or desire me.”

She looked down at him, taking his austere but striking face in her small hands. 

“Dumbledore said you did not love me.”

“Dumbledore is a fool. You are the only witch I have ever loved in my entire life. I am not sure I even knew what love was, until you showed me the way.”

“Oh, Severus.”

The dark wizard pulled her down so that she was sitting on his lap, her legs together and rested upon the sofa cushions. Putting his hand around the back of her head, he urged her mouth towards his, capturing her soft lips once again, kissing this slip of a girl who was inexplicably carrying his child. 

“Do you wish to bond?” he asked her, between kisses. 

“As marriage proposals go, that was rather awful,” she smiled. “But no, I don’t. Not yet, anyway. I have a life ahead of me. I want to study, qualify, master everything. I have no idea how I’m going to do that with a child. But Severus, I do want you, I really do.”

“I am with you,” he assured, without hesitation. “You will achieve every one of your dreams. This child will not hinder your life, only enhance it. I promise you.”

Hermione tangled her hand in his thin black hair, grown longer since she’d seen him last, and stroked the sensitive back of his scalp.

“This child is a little girl, Severus. We are having a daughter.”

A thousand thoughts ran though his head, not a coherent nor sensible one among them. 

A daughter? 

A daughter?

“We can only hope that she inherits your looks,” he muttered, pulling Hermione towards him so he could kiss her yet again, not able to get enough of her honeyed lips. 

He had survived, quite unexpectedly, after walking the most audacious tightrope for the last nearly twenty years. Now that he had been granted this sweet reprieve, this second chance, he had no intention of letting it slip from his grasp. 

Ever.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is all so fast. It must be too sudden, too soon for you, given that you only just found out that I was even alive. I would never presume that I had any claim on you, or that you would wish to continue our interactions indefinitely.”

Hermione melted into Severus’ encircling arms as they kissed on the sofa, resting her head on his shoulder as he bent his neck forward to reach her. His new, longer hair draped over her face, and she ran her hand through it, raking it back just for it to fall forwards again, for he was enjoying her touch. He seemed to be completely distracted by the important task of kissing her, and the fluttering in her stomach was an oddly familiar feeling, nothing to do with the baby, and one she’d not felt for a long while, not since she’d last been with him. 

She recognised that she was becoming aroused, just by the mere touch of his lips, and if the hardness in his lap, just under her bottom, was any indication, he was feeling the same way. 

Severus dropped a hand to her bare legs, stroking her smooth flesh and travelling slowly up towards the hem of her short summer dress. When he reached it, he toyed with the material, seemingly unsure how, or indeed whether, to proceed. She felt his erection pulse beneath her, a jolt of excitement had surged through him. 

“Yes,” she encouraged, slightly breaking the kiss and drawing his lower lip in between hers, sucking on it gently. 

He slid his hand further upwards, pushing it under her dress and squeezing her thigh as she felt the rate of his breathing increase. A little further, and he was at her arse, taking hold of her bum cheek in his hand, over her knickers. 

“Hermione, I …”

“Tell me.”

“I apologise.”

Severus removed his hand from her bottom and placed it back on her waist, above her clothes. Hermione sat up a little straighter on his lap. 

“Why did you stop?”

“This is all so fast. It must be too sudden, too soon for you, given that you only just found out that I was even alive. I would never presume that I had any claim on you, or that you would wish to continue our interactions indefinitely.”

“I have thought of nothing but you since our very first … interaction,” she smiled, twirling a lock of his black hair between her fingers. 

A delightful blush began to spread across his pale face. 

“Hermione, please allow me to take you upstairs?” he said, slowly. 

“Why, is there some interesting décor you’d like to show me?”

“I believe you are teasing me, Miss Granger.”

“I think there is room in our lives for a little teasing, after everything we have been through.”

“You could well be correct.”

Severus took hold of her upper arms and squeezed them gently, rubbing them as if he thought she were cold, and she could feel a slight tremble of nervousness as he touched her. 

“Your mother …?”

“Will be in her chambers at Hogwarts tonight,” he interrupted, “and will cover for you should your absence be noted. Not that it should be, since you are an adult witch and school is not yet in session.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

“Why, Professor, did you plan this?”

“I made sure to prepare for every possible eventuality,” he smirked, thumbing her cheek. “You could have run screaming the second you saw me.”

“Do you still have no confidence in my feelings for you?”

“It has been a rather … unusual courtship.”

She laughed. 

“I think that must be the understatement of the year. But, Severus, why are we still sitting here?”

He raised his eyebrow at her in an elegant but suggestive arch that sent a flicker of excitement directly to the seat of her pants, before standing up in one smooth movement, holding her in his arms. 

“You won’t be able to do that for too much longer,” she warned, touching his arm approvingly so she could feel the sinewy muscles of his deceptively strong bicep rippling as he carried her. 

“You will never be too heavy for me to lift, Hermione.”

Severus began to kiss her yet again as he walked across the room, heading for the door through which she had entered earlier, not able to keep his lips from hers for any length of time. He had almost lost everything, including his own life, and now he was here with this perfect witch in his arms, with an awful lot of catching up to do. 

The narrow cottage stairs were not wide enough for him to carry her up, whichever way he turned, so he set her upon the second-from-bottom step, and the girl stood there, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him so fervently that he almost fell over. 

“Unless you wish me to make love to you on the staircase, I suggest you start walking, witch, for I have waited long enough for you,” he instructed, sliding his hands under her dress and taking hold of her knickers, pulling them down her legs until she could step out of them. 

He had often enjoying relieving Hermione of her underwear when they’d been alone in his chambers, so regularly that he’d amassed quite a collection of her knickers that he’d stripped her of. There was something about knowing the little witch was bare-tailed and her delectable cunt just a slip of his hand away that used to arouse the fuck out of him. Clearly, his little predilection was still alive and kicking. 

Severus slipped the purloined knickers into his trouser pocket, and ran a searching hand over her bare arse, enjoying the visible desire in her eyes. 

Fucking hell. 

“Up … now,” he choked, his power of speech being lost amidst his increasing sexual arousal. 

Granger turned and began to walk up the stairwell, holding onto the wooden bannisters that were attached to the walls on either side. He could not resist lifting the hem of her dress for a quick peek at her naked bottom as she ascended, and then immediately regretted it as his cock lurched with such enthusiasm that he seriously worried he may shoot his load before even reaching the bedroom. 

Calm down, man, he told himself, his relative inexperience making him feel like he was almost a bloody virgin again. 

Severus ushered her into the back bedroom, which had a small window looking out over the garden, and a double bed with a patchwork quilt. He had been convalescing here since his mother had Apparated him home from the Muggle hospital.

Closing the door behind them, he locked it and cast a security ward, because old habits died hard, particularly in the current climate. He read the newspaper. He knew that there were many who would gladly see him rotting in the middle of the North Sea, in Azkaban. 

Hermione walked over to him, immediately slipping her hands under his t-shirt and pushing it up his body to expose his stomach. He allowed her to pull the soft black material up and over his head, and she dropped it to the floor, returning her hands to his chest, and stroking him all over. Severus closed his eyes and luxuriated in her touch as she caressed him, feeling the new scars, seeking the old ones. She threaded her fingers through his chest hair, and made him gasp as she began to circle each of his nipples, tweaking each one to an erect point. 

He took hold of her hands. 

“This is unlikely to be a stellar performance,” he warned, his balls hot and heavy in his trousers, still threatening a premature eruption of their contents.

“Who is performing?” she replied, “I just want you.”

So simple, so heartfelt, so reassuring. 

Merlin knows what he ever did to deserve this girl. Granger was so young, but at the same time, she was an old head on youthful shoulders, her mind as keen and wise as if she’d lived a thousand lifetimes. 

Not breaking his intense gaze into her eyes, Severus reached for his belt and unfastened it along with his trousers, allowing both to drop to the floor. She immediately reached forwards and wrapped her arms around his waist, touching the sensitive bare skin at the base of his spine and fiddling with the top of his undershorts, easing them down so that she could cup his bare arse cheeks in her hands. 

“Shit, Hermione,” he gulped, his hips involuntarily thrusting towards her. 

Really, he had no fucking finesse whatsoever. 

She hoicked his pants over the tip of his ridiculously hard cock, and pushed them down to join his other clothes on the floor. He stood naked before her as she appeared to drink down the sight of him, her brown eyes roving over his body. Never in his life had he been scrutinised with such lustful approval. 

Not trusting his voice to manage a coherent sentence, he raised an eyebrow and made a spinning ‘turn around’ gesture with his forefinger. She complied, and he reached for the back of her dress, taking hold of the zip and slowly sliding it down, revealing her smooth back inch by inch. He trailed his fingers down her soft skin, following the zip’s path. 

Once it was fully down, he gave the shoulders a gentle pull and the dress slithered down her body and pooled on the floor in a pile of white material bedecked with summer flowers. She reached up and pulled her hair free of its binding, shaking it loose. He moved in behind her, pressing his naked body against hers, sliding his hands around to her slightly swollen stomach and holding his cheek against hers as he leaned over her shoulder. 

He cupped the pregnant bump that contained his child, the most precious gift he had ever been given. She moaned in pleasure as he gently stroked her belly, resting her head back against his shoulder. It was so exquisitely sensual that he felt rather uncouth to have an extremely impatient erection prodding in the small of her back. 

At length he let go, unhooking her plain white brassiere at the back and allowing it to slip from her shoulders. She supported her own breasts and turned to face him still holding them, and he felt his eyes widen. 

“You have grown in other areas too,” he admired, reaching out his hands to stroke the ripe fullness of her large breasts, “I assume I should touch them gently?”

She nodded, and moved her hands away, revealing larger, more fulsome breasts that he yearned to suckle. Bloody Merlin, her tits were outstanding. 

“They are sensitive?” he asked. 

“Very.”

Severus leaned forwards and planted the lightest kiss to each of her nipples, giving each one a tiny lick with the very tip of his tongue before pulling back, attempting to restrain himself. 

“Would you like to lie down with me?” she asked, shyly, taking his hand to urge him towards the bed.

Would he like to? Does a thestral shit in the woods?

He lay her down on the pillows, atop the quilt since the weather was so warm, ensuring her comfort before climbing up on the end of the bed. 

“Forgive me for being so bold. I cannot wait.”

“Severus, please relax. You are not the only one who is keen to do this.”

“In that case,” he replied, curling one side of his mouth into a wanton smile, “open your legs, my Hermione, for I have a pressing matter I must attend to.”

He took hold of her knees and pushed them upwards and outwards, exposing her to his view. 

“You are comfortable?” he enquired. 

“Oh, yes.”

Sliding his thumbs between her labia to spread open her most delicious place, his cock lurched again at the sight of her pinkness splayed before him. 

Wait, he told himself. Have some fucking patience, man. 

Lifting the hood that concealed her clitoris, Severus noticed that the small bud was already beginning to twitch and swell, so he bowed his head forwards and blew on it, enjoying hearing her gasp and watching her clit react to the stimulation. Shit, he needed to put his mouth on her now. He could not wait another second before reminding himself of how sweet this little witch tasted. 

He was beyond gratified to hear Hermione let loose with a long, drawn-out groan of approval as he pressed his tongue against her folds and began to lick, not allowing any part of her wet cunt to escape his attention. He sucked her fleshy lips into his mouth, flickered around her little rear end, and thrust his tongue deep inside her vagina, capturing as much of her wet lushness as he could. 

Once she was writhing under him, he held her hips in place as he titillated her urethral opening, before making her gasp as he worked his tongue up and under her cleft, drawing her clit into his mouth, sucking upon it as if he were kissing her mouth. 

With a scream, she burst, and fell over the edge, hips thrusting and coming hard into his mouth, and Severus felt her juices dripping against his chin. He covered as much of her cunt as he could with his mouth, feeling her hole pulse and contract under his lips, and the feeling was fucking sublime. 

Once she had calmed somewhat, he scrambled up her body, making sure to hold himself up on his elbows so that he did not put his weight on her belly, with its precious cargo, frantically guiding his rock-hard cock towards her entrance.

Hermione gripped his bare shoulders, squeezing them hard. 

“Make love to me,” she breathed, her eyes drunk with lust. “Show me that you are truly alive, Severus.”

He could do that. He would do that. 

Rolling his hips forward, he pushed inside her, slowly filling her with his girth and length, feeling the welcoming clench of her vaginal walls around his cock. 

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, already undulating his hips and preparing for a second, long thrust.

“Oh, my goodness,” she panted, insinuating her hands deeply into his hair and grasping full, tight handfuls of the long black strands that pulled blissfully against his scalp.

“My angel,” he panted. “I am most definitely alive. I survived for you, and now I live for both of you, for all of us.”

Hermione pulled his mouth to hers and began to kiss him passionately, and yet again he felt the tears trickle down her cheeks as she wept. Severus was only just beginning to realise the depth of this girl’s feelings towards him, and they were inexplicable. He would spend the rest of his life, a life that he had been gifted, making this witch happy. He swore it. 

The ache in his balls suggested that he would not be able to make this last much longer, and his hips sped up involuntarily, thrusting into his witch over and over again, fucking them both higher. His palms now flat on the mattress and on either side of her head, he ground his teeth as he swivelled his hips against her, watching her face intently as she orgasmed again, this time around his cock. 

Seeing her face contort in ecstasy and hearing her gasp with her second orgasm was enough to push him over his own cliff, and his hips were a blur as he ejaculated, shouting his release with such a loud roar that his mother’s neighbours must surely have heard.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I shall not deny that the peace and quiet this cottage has offered whilst I recovered from my injuries has been a blessing. It has allowed me to convalesce, to regain my strength, to heal my wounds. But now I am strong. I need to plan for my future, which I find most odd, since I never believed I would have one.”

The wizard that Hermione had believed lost to her forever was laying sated on the pillow next to hers, a healthy pink glow to his usual pallor from the exertions of their lovemaking. Severus Snape was flat on his back, his rapid breathing gradually slowing as he recovered, and his face turned to hers, searching her own with his coal-black eyes. 

“How can you be here?” he said, quietly, reaching out a hand to rest lightly atop her stomach. 

“I think it is far more unlikely that you are here,” she replied, stroking her fingers across the scars on his neck. 

“I do not mean that. I mean, why are you here with me? Why me, Hermione?”

She rolled onto her side and edged towards him, slipping under the embrace of his arm and placing her palm on his bare chest, looking at him with her honest brown eyes. 

“Why not you?” she replied, and snuggled down, laying her head next to her own hand and listening to the reassuring beat of his very-much-alive heart. 

“Why not me,” he repeated. “Why not me, indeed. How curious.”

“It’s not really that curious at all, when you think about it. All that time we spent alone together, at Professor Dumbledore’s request, the things you taught me I would never have learned anywhere else. Those times were amazing. My own private tutorials.”

“Are you saying I bewitched your mind?” he teased. 

Hermione smiled against his chest, and he felt it, unable to halt the smirk now heading to his own face. 

“And ensnared all my senses. Especially after we started … you know.”

“Indeed, I do know.”

He hugged her to him, and tightly, dropping a kiss to her slightly sweaty forehead. 

“This is nice, Severus. Just laying here like this. No pressure of time, no one knows we are here. Well, apart from Eileen, but since she set this meeting up, I’m presuming she approves.”

“My mother likes you very much. She didn’t necessarily approve of my actions that year, when we were conducting a covert relationship, but you were always one of her favourite students.”

“I like the library. I love to read, and I love books.”

“My mother does too. She has made the Hogwarts’ library her life’s work, these last twenty years hence, as well as keeping her beady eye on me, of course.”

Silence fell over them again, Hermione closed her eyes in contentment but did not sleep. Severus trailed his fingers over the soft skin of her naked back, enjoying the feel of her hair as it occasionally tickled his forearm as he moved. 

The sun was dipping now, creating a streaky orange sunset heading towards the horizon, and it was a warm evening of late summer, the room was still warm. He levitated over a fresh sheet from the linen cupboard and draped it over their bodies, the light cotton just enough for their needs as they rested and relaxed, enjoying the simple pleasure of just being together. 

“You must be hungry. Can I provide you with supper?” he asked her, a long while later, when they must have both dozed off several times. 

Hermione sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. 

“Hmm, not really, but I do need to make sure I eat. No doubt once I see the food I will find my appetite.”

“Stay here. I will bring everything upstairs. This is my mother’s cottage, I have no desire to feel like a teenaged boy sneaking around his mother’s house with a witch. I find myself reluctant to allow you to leave this room, in truth.”

His expression was slightly sheepish, but rather attractive, she thought, as he rolled himself out of the bed and pulled on his undershorts and the black t-shirt he’d been wearing previously. Hermione settled herself back against the pillows to indicate that she wasn’t going anywhere. Appearing satisfied, he nodded once and left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. 

-xxx-

Hermione awoke from her doze as he re-entered the room, two trays levitated before him, both being held steady by his wand, in an almost nonchalant manner, so confident was he in his own magical capabilities. She crossed her legs, and he set the larger tray down on the bed, it was spread with fat sandwiches, a bowl of salad, two apples and two individual-sized chocolate cakes. 

Really wanting the cake, but thinking she ought to at least attempt to ingest something healthy for the baby first, she picked up a cheese sandwich and took a grateful bite. Severus had put the smaller tray on top of the long cabinet underneath the window, and was pouring tea. Passing her a cup, he sat carefully down on the bed opposite her, his back against the footboard with the tray in between them. 

“Nice work,” she commented. 

“I have my uses,” he replied, a small smile touching his lips as he selected a sandwich for himself. 

“To whom does the wand belong?” she asked.

“It is an unregistered spare. I have been in possession of it for many years, and always carried it secreted on my person, for just such a situation as this, really. A situation where I cannot use my own.”

“The two broken pieces of your wand were buried in the Hogwarts grounds,” she told him, “I saw it happen, at your … your memorial service.”

“I heard. That wand is now lost to me.”

“Will you get another?”

“Now that is the biggest question of all, for it leads directly to the dilemma of what I should do now. To purchase a wand, I will need to visit a wand shop, where it will be registered to my magical signature. This will of course alert the Ministry to the fact that I am still alive.”

“The Ministry are supportive of you. Harry and Kingsley ensured that you were cleared of all charges.”

“That was very easy for Shacklebolt to do, since he was passing judgement upon a dead wizard. I wonder if the situation would be different had I still been alive. My mother has the Daily Prophet delivered here every morning, and I am aware of the current tide of bad feeling against me. If it were known that I was alive, I believe that there would be many who would campaign for me to be justly punished for my war crimes.”

“So, you’ll just stay here?”

“Believe me, Hermione, that is not an option. I believe you once heard me castigate Sirius Black for hiding in Grimmauld Place, whiling away the war in safety? I meant every word. I will not hide away indefinitely, I would rather face whatever is out there waiting for me, than fester and stagnate whilst hiding behind my mother’s skirts.”

She moved from sandwiches on to the apple, chewing deliberately slowly so that her mouth was occupied, allowing him to talk, to give voice to his thoughts and feelings. He had been alone here for so long, since the end of the war, with only Eileen for company when she was not working up at the castle.

“I shall not deny that the peace and quiet this cottage has offered whilst I recovered from my injuries has been a blessing. It has allowed me to convalesce, to regain my strength, to heal my wounds. But now I am strong. I need to plan for my future, which I find most odd, since I never believed I would have one.”

“You have me, and our daughter. And Eileen.”

“I am rich, indeed,” he answered, sincerely. “More so than I ever believed possible. If you are sure that I am what you desire, I would be a fool to ponder the ramifications too deeply.”

“Don’t ponder, then. I turn nineteen in little over three weeks. I am well of age, and in voluntary, not compulsory, education. I am having our baby. Part of me wonders if we should bond, but I would prefer that when we bond, that it will be an action of love and desire, rather than something we think we ought to do just because I am pregnant.”

“I understand that completely, Hermione. Our relationship, and I still feel strange calling it thus, is still new, despite all that has passed between us over the last two years. Suffice to say that my offer to bond remains very much active, when and if you desire to do so.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, Severus. Don’t leave the offer ‘on the table’, so to speak. Ask me again, properly, when you truly desire to bond with me, and when you feel the time to be right.”

“I think you are grossly overestimating my capabilities both as a suitor, and as a reader of feminine subtleties.”

She laughed out loud at his assessment of himself. 

“Not at all. I have the greatest of faith in your abilities … Professor.”

“You cheeky bloody wench.”

“I would show you just how cheeky I can be, if I didn’t have a deep longing to eat that gorgeous-looking cake.”

Hermione picked up the chocolate cake and took a huge, unapologetic bite, chewing it carefully with mischief in her eyes. Severus leaned back on the footboard of the bed, cup of tea in hand, regarding the achingly-young witch who was inexplicably carrying his child. 

“I have the greatest of pleasure in being in love with you, Miss Granger.”

He raised what he hoped was a sexy eyebrow, and lifted his teacup to his mouth, taking an elegant sip of his brew, as a rather taken-aback Miss Granger appeared to choke on her cake. 

-xxx-

Much later, when night had fallen and the room was in darkness, lit by candles and with the curtains closed, Hermione was seated between his legs as Severus leaned back on the headboard, supported by a pile of pillows as he blissfully massaged her tired neck and shoulders. 

She had secured her mane of hair in a messy bun on top of her head so that it did not impede the attentions he was lavishing upon her. She groaned in pleasure every time he found a particularly tough knot, or swept his skilful hands across her shoulders. 

“Hermione, could you please not make sexual noises whilst I am massaging you? It is rather distracting,” he complained, teasingly, proving his point by poking his semi-hard erection in the small of her back. 

“I can’t help it. It’s so good.”

“I hope you will have no objection to me making love to you again afterwards?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I shall simply put up with the noises, knowing that they bear the promise of future fruit.”

“You are so funny, Severus.”

He was surprised. Funny? Him? How very odd. He continued to massage her, as it was the least he could do, considering she was the one who was carrying the child for them both. Her small body must be exhausted. 

“Would you come back to Hogwarts? I’m sure they would have you, since you have been exonerated,” she asked, suddenly.

“That was an unexpected question. Is that where your mind has wandered to? My answer is; however, I do not know. It is one option, I suppose. Although I am not sure how appropriate it would be to teach in a school where one of the students is pregnant by me.”

Hermione leaned back against him, effectively stopping his massage, and drawing his arms around her.

“I’m not going to tell anyone who her father is. It is no one’s business. I don’t want anyone speculating that you abused your position and took advantage of me as a student. If anything, I defiled you.”

“Anyone investigating would not see it that way, Granger. I was the adult, the professor, and therefore bear the responsibility. Additionally, I regret to tell you, that there are spells available to establish paternity upon an infant.”

“Only if I allow them to cast it. Which I won’t.”

“That will only hold water for so long, my angel. What about as the child grows? People will be constantly casting aspersions as to her parentage.”

She paused, the wind taken out of her sails and realising just how very complex the situation was. Severus pulled her back against his chest, brushing his lips against her cheek, gently kissing her, as he stroked her forearms. 

“I need to complete my NEWTs. Let’s take it from there?”

“I agree. I shall give thought to making contact with Minerva regarding the possibility of teaching again. It may even be less irritating without both Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle controlling my every move. I may even enjoy it. If, as it seems, that I am indeed exonerated of war crimes, then I have nothing to lose by revealing myself. I am sure there will be some opposition, but I have lived my whole life being despised, this will be no different.”

“That sounds like a plan,” she replied, guiding his hands to her breasts, and showing him how to fondle them gently and carefully, so as not to cause her discomfort in their somewhat swollen state. 

Hermione felt his erection twitch against her, and knew she had successfully distracted him. She closed her eyes and allowed him to explore her body, feeling her stomach clench as his hands moved lower. 

Severus pulled her legs apart and settled them on his thighs, eagerly seeking her secret place that she concealed within them. He opened her lips, stretching one searching finger between them to find her clit already swelling from his ministrations to her breasts. 

Clamping his open mouth to her neck and shoulders, nipping at the sensitive cords that pulsed there, he used both hands to flicker against her clitoris in a ceaseless rhythm, no penetration, just tickling, teasing, agitating the little bud to give her the sensation she craved. 

“Can you come for me, my angel?” he drawled, low and deep against her ear. 

“Yes … yes, I will, Severus … oh …”

Loving the sound of his name from her lips, he sped up the movement of his fingers so that he was gliding in rapid circles on the very tip of her clit, feeling her thrust her hips upwards involuntarily to meet his touch.

“Oh, you are, aren’t you? You are going to come. Let me have it.”

“I am … I will…”

Her hips went rigid in the upward thrust position, and he frantically frigged against her clitoris, rubbing it faster and faster in her silky fluid until she burst, her cunt spasming and her breathless panting sounding like sweet music to his ears.

“Good girl … such a good girl, Hermione,” he crooned, running his hand over her pussy and finding it soaked in her juices. 

“I need to fuck you, little witch. Now.”

She shifted forwards, and they changed positions, quite awkwardly, but neither cared – after all, who was watching? Hermione settled on her back with Severus above her, his long hair hanging down either side of his face. He used his hand to help insert his cock inside her, and the familiar feel of him made her want to weep. 

Snape’s black eyes were alight with intensity as he stroked in and out, never leaving her face, always ensuring her comfort, her pleasure. It was only when he approached his orgasm that he became rough, his expression transcendent, his last vestiges of that tight control gone. The sight of his complete abandon was utterly arousing to her, it always had been, ever since they had made love for the first time. This controlled, private, taciturn wizard letting everything go, for her eyes only. No other soul on earth knew what Severus was truly like. 

As he slept in her arms, his breathing heavy and his snores light, showing him to be in a state of deep slumber, Hermione thought of the tentative plans they had made. Somehow, they would make it work. They would be a formidable team. 

She did not yet know, but with the arrival of the morning post, all their dreams would come crashing down. 

SEVERUS SNAPE – SAINT OR SINNER? By Rita Skeeter

“The Prophet can exclusively report today that interim Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt has finally bowed to public pressure and is overturning his post-humous exoneration of the Death Eater, Severus Snape. 

According to reliable sources, new evidence has come to light that the ‘Tragic Anti-Hero’ may not be as blameless as Harry Potter, the self-styled ‘Chosen One’, has attempted to portray him. 

Tales of Snape’s vicious activities and perverted proclivities amongst the heinous organisation known as the Death Eaters are prolific inside the walls of Azkaban prison, which houses dozens of those convicted after the war, all of whom are said to be furious at the former Headmaster escaping ‘scot-free’. The fact that Severus Snape was killed by Voldemort himself during the Battle of Hogwarts has not seemed to allay their desire to see his status as a war hero revoked. 

Minister Shacklebolt has no choice but to investigate the new allegations, and the outcome will be crucial at a time when his time in the top spot, always intended to be temporary, is under scrutiny, with many calling for a formal election now that the war is fast becoming a distant memory. 

We will bring you more news as it arrives here.” 

“Fast becoming a distant memory?” Hermione asked, incredulously. 

“That woman can go and fuck herself,” Severus replied, angrily throwing the paper down in the middle of the bed. 

-xxx-

The Welcome Feast was its very own special kind of awful. 

Every house had sustained losses, whether from deaths, or students not returning, although the tables seemed as full as usual, given that there was part of an extra year present, her own. 

From Gryffindor, only herself, Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas had returned. Dean had missed the whole of his seventh year, on the run from Snatchers for the crime of simply being Muggle-born, or otherwise unable to prove his magical heritage. He was keen to catch up on the work he had missed, for his career plan was to train under an apothecary and open his own business. 

Neville had returned to focus on Herbology, and he would be beginning an apprenticeship under Professor Sprout whilst studying for and taking his other NEWTs. 

Harry, Ron and Seamus had all taken the offer of the complimentary exam results, as had, surprisingly, Parvati Patil. Hermione suspected that her parents had not allowed her to return, as a quick glance at the Ravenclaw table showed her twin, Padma, to be absent also.

The final Gryffindor of their cohort, Lavender Brown, was still in St Mungo’s, recovering from her horrendous injuries that had been sustained during the attack by Fenrir Greyback. Hermione had never particularly liked Lavender, but she wished her no ill, and had sent her best wishes earlier in the summer with Harry for speedy healing. 

Out of habit, Hermione had seated herself next to Ginny Weasley, now a seventh-year herself, and had been shocked by the disdainful look the redhead had given her as she sat down. Ginny had shot a look to her stomach and back up again, given her a rictus smirk of a greeting, and then turned back to her own friends. Hermione could not hear what they were saying, for they were whispering so low. 

Thank Merlin for Dean and Neville, who sat opposite her and conversed as normal, although they both admitted it was rather strange for only the three of them to be here, and felt the loss of their absent friends keenly. 

Hermione had made some subtle magical adjustments to her school uniform to accommodate her small bump. More would need to be made as she grew larger, but her alterations would suffice for now. If she swished her robes around herself she looked no different from usual. 

After the Sorting, as Professor McGonagall gave her first welcome speech as headmistress, there was an undercurrent of sadness and regret in the air. She’d glossed over Severus’ tenure, opting instead to remember Professor Dumbledore and all that he’d stood for, echoing his ideals in her own words, before warning students they were unlikely to find her as tolerant as he. There was a small ripple of nervous laughter. 

At the end of the speech, the new Headmistress McGonagall dismissed them all to bed, and Hermione tried to catch up with Ginny before she headed up to Gryffindor Tower. Taking a light hold of her elbow in the entrance hall to attract her attention, she was shocked when Ginny yanked her arm away as if Hermione had burned her. 

“Gin?”

“What do you want? We’ve been sent to our common rooms, if you didn’t hear McGonagall. Those of us who are still part of Gryffindor have, anyway,” Ginny retorted, once again eyeing Hermione’s practically-invisible bump. 

“I’m still part of Gryffindor,” Hermione protested, gesturing to her scarlet and gold tie, but it sounded feeble and desperate, even to her own ears. 

“Well, you’ve a funny way of showing it.”

“It wasn’t my choice to be put in a separate room! McGonagall insisted upon it, due to my pregnancy.”

“I wondered when that would come up. I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to walk around school, unmarried, with a big pregnant bump like that.”

“Ginny? Why are you being like this?”

“I know, Hermione,” Ginny accused. 

“What do you think you know?”

“Harry and Ron told me everything.”

Hermione felt an ice-cold shudder head down her spine, and it was a horrible sensation. Harry and Ron? But they didn’t know anything … did they? Ginny was as sharp as her mother, and picked up on her unvoiced fear straight away. 

“Malfoy Manor, you remember that? When my brother and my boyfriend risked their lives to save you? You insisted that your baby wasn’t fathered by a Snatcher or a werewolf. Which leaves only one choice, Hermione. You didn’t say the father wasn’t a Death Eater.” 

“I honestly have no idea what you are talking about,” Hermione replied, perplexed. 

The entrance hall was starting to empty, now, Ginny’s friends had headed off up to Gryffindor Tower, and there were only stragglers left exiting the Great Hall, making their own voices echo off the stone walls around them, seeming louder. 

Ginny leaned closer, lowering the volume of her voice but keeping the spiteful venom. 

“I’m talking about Draco Malfoy, Hermione. I know he was there at the Manor that day. He must have raped you.”

“What?”

“Either that, or you fucked him willingly. Always fancied him, have you? That might be why you don’t want to name and shame him.”

“Ginny!”

“Guilt’s written all over your face, Granger.”

“Since when do you call me Granger?”

“Since you hurt my family. We are no longer friends.”

“How have I hurt your family? I would never hurt them, I love your parents, I love all of you!”

“One little operation at St Mungo’s, Hermione, and you could’ve got rid of that bastard you’re carrying, moved on and had the relationship with Ronald that you always should have done. The only possible reason you’ve kept the kid is because the father means something to you. Either that, or he’s stinking rich. That would certainly help, wouldn’t it?”

That was the final straw. Before she even realised the good sense of her actions, Hermione had drawn her wand and sent a stinging hex into Ginny Weasley’s face, the same one she had blasted Harry with, when they’d been trying to escape the Snatchers.   
Ginny dropped to the floor, screaming, clutching her face as her features swelled and distorted. 

“Hermione Granger! My office, immediately!”

It was Professor Sprout, the Hufflepuff Head of House, exiting the Great Hall at exactly the right time to see Hermione cast the hex into Ginny’s face. 

Shit. 

-xxx-

All things being equal, it had not been the most auspicious of starts to her repeat seventh year. Professor Sprout, despite her soft demeanour, had punished Hermione with a month of Saturday detentions in the greenhouses for a blatant attack on a fellow student, and sent Ginny to Madam Pomfrey. 

When Hermione had pointed out the that stinging hex would wear off quickly of its own accord and that Ginny would suffer no ill-effects, Professor Sprout had been most unimpressed at her cheek, and added an extra week to the month of detentions. 

She sat in the bathtub in her chambers, the sweet-smelling elixir she had added to the water doing nothing to calm her fury. What the hell had Ginny been talking about? So, they’d all been discussing her at the Burrow and come to the conclusion she’d either been raped by, or had willing sex with, Draco Malfoy, and was now hanging on to his baby because his family were rich or she had a secret crush on him? If it wasn’t so serious it would be laughable. Did any of them really know her at all?

Hermione knew that they were hurting, Ron most of all, since he had wanted a relationship with her, but really, this behaviour was downright nasty. She would not be making excuses for them anymore. They were all coping with the aftermath of war in their own way, herself included. The Weasleys did not have a priority on suffering. 

Sod them all. She would stay here and take her NEWTs, and then she would leave and take herself far away from all of them. She had more important things to worry about at present, such as her baby, and Severus. 

He had been fuming over Rita Skeeter’s article in the Prophet, denouncing the sources as incarcerated Death Eaters who were offering information about him in order to reduce their own sentences and shift blame from themselves. 

However, the removal of his formal exoneration meant that he could not just ‘reappear’ and seek employment at Hogwarts. That plan had now been thrown out like an infestation of gnomes over a garden wall. 

Severus was now trapped in his mother’s cottage, unable to leave, because he refused to take himself away from her and their unborn daughter, and unable to stay, since the idea of remaining in solitary confinement, secreted away from the world, was abhorrent to him. 

After she had dried herself, put on clean pyjamas and slipped into her bed, she hugged a pillow to herself in lieu of Severus, rubbing a consoling hand on her small bump, and trying to concentrate on the first day of lessons tomorrow. Her books, quills and required equipment for each class were all prepared and ready, ever the dutiful student. 

Everything else? It was an absolute mess.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her brain fizzing with theories and possibilities and her enthusiasm ignited, she was reminded sharply of why she had returned to Hogwarts in the first place. She wanted the NEWTs, that was true, but also the sheer joy of learning had not left her.

Thus far, Hermione’s first day of lessons was going relatively well. She’d shunned breakfast in the Great Hall in favour of tea and toast in her chambers, not in any hurry to see Ginny Weasley again any sooner than strictly necessary, and had then made her way directly to Professor Flitwick’s Charms classroom for her first lesson of the day. 

Carefully choosing a seat close to the front before the other students arrived, she greeted Flitwick warmly before absorbing herself in her recently-purchased, NEWT-level textbook. She adored Charms, and had used so many of them during their year on the run that she understood the importance of gaining practical experience and qualification in the subject. 

Barely looking up as the other students filed in, a mixture of the few returnees from her own year, and the full cohort from the year below; the official seventh-years, the classroom was soon full, but she did not know the two Ravenclaws who had taken the seats next to her. 

She snuck a furtive look at Ginny, whose hexed face was now completely back to normal, just as she’d told Professor Sprout it would be, holding court amongst a group of friends her own age. Hermione supposed that being the girlfriend of Harry Potter gave Ginny a certain cachet in the halls of Hogwarts, and under normal circumstances she’d be pleased for her, but after her behaviour last night, she was feeling distinctly uncharitable towards the youngest Weasley this morning. 

The lesson began, and the other students melted away from her peripheral vision as she turned her full attention to the diminutive professor, soaking up his experienced and well-practised teaching. They had begun with Transforming Charms, which were not, Flitwick was at pains to point out, full Transfigurations. The charms he was teaching enabled an object to take on the appearance of something else, but the essential matter contained within would remain the same. Hermione was fascinated, and was gratified to master the incantation along with the wand movements more quickly than anyone else in the class. 

Whilst the other students were waving their wands around in a stupid, first-day-of-term fashion that reminded her amusingly of Ronald attempting to cast a Wingardium Leviosa in their first year, Hermione was discussing with Professor Flitwick the possibly of using the Transforming Charm on a live subject, such as an animal or even a human. They had begun quite an interesting debate until he was forced to return his attention, rather reluctantly, to the rest of the class. 

Her brain fizzing with theories and possibilities and her enthusiasm ignited, she was reminded sharply of why she had returned to Hogwarts in the first place. She wanted the NEWTs, that was true, but also the sheer joy of learning had not left her. She needed to cram her head as full of knowledge as she possibly could, adding it to the practical experience she had gained the previous year, which could not be discounted, however unpleasant it might have been. 

Yes, the next year was going to be hard, and even harder still once the baby arrived during the Christmas holidays, but she had every confidence she would be able to cope, with the help and support offered by the headmistress. This morning’s lesson, her first in over a year, had been completely wonderful, and in a strange way, it felt like she had never left. 

As they left the classroom, Hermione was jostled by Ginny pushing past her, loudly wondering why ‘some’ people felt they were ‘too good’ to eat breakfast in the Great Hall with the rest of the students. Hermione didn’t rise to her bait, this time. A month of detentions, not forgetting the extra week, was more than enough to be going on with. Taking a deep breath, she hung back and allowed the group of Gryffindors to pass her, hoping that Ginny wasn’t in all the same classes as she was. 

-xxx-

She sat with Dean and Neville in the Great Hall for lunch, having fortunately been Weasley-free for both Ancient Runes and Transfiguration. She doubted she’d be so lucky in double Potions that afternoon, knowing that had been Ginny’s favourite subject, after flying, of course. 

Neville and Dean were friendly, but all three of them stuck to neutral, painless subjects by a tacit, unspoken agreement. 

So much had happened during the last year; Neville commanding a one-man resistance here at Hogwarts and being regularly tortured for his troubles, and Dean spending months on the run, just trying to stay alive and avoid registration, with Dirk Cresswell and Ted Tonks, who had both been eventually murdered by Death Eaters. How Dean had managed to escape with his own life Hermione had no idea, and she was too polite to ask, knowing that it was likely to be something that haunted him. 

For their part, they did not ask about Ron or Harry, and carefully avoided all mention of her pregnancy. She mourned the loss of their easy, carefree friendship that was gone forever, and replaced with this – a strange limbo where they were not children, too old to be students, but desperate to complete the schooling that had been denied them in their final year. 

Dean and Hermione made their way together down to the dungeons for Potions, their final class of the day and a long double period. Neville had a free afternoon and was going for his first tutorial with Professor Sprout, which he was extremely excited about. Herbology was his passion, and he’d confided that Sprout had told him she was retiring in a few years, and that if he took an apprenticeship with her, it would stand him at the front of the queue for her replacement as Herbology professor. Neville told them that he had enthusiastically accepted her offer, and set off for the greenhouses in high spirits. 

As Hermione and Dean took their seats in the Potions classroom, chilly even on this warm September afternoon, Professor Slughorn waddled in, casting his eyes around the classroom at his latest crop of Advanced Level students. She concealed her private amusement at the memory of Phineas Nigellus Black and his hand-flapping horror at the memory of Slughorn’s debauched endeavours in the Slytherin Heads’ secret chamber. To horrify that bunch of voyeuristic paintings, Slughorn’s exploits must have been truly depraved. 

Hermione was quite sure she could never take Professor Slughorn seriously again with her new knowledge, although in truth, he hadn’t really been her favourite teacher to begin with. As far as Potions were concerned, she had preferred Snape’s controlled, demanding style of teaching - unpleasant for certain, but always pushing for excellence from his students. She sighed, for the brilliant wizard was currently languishing in his mother’s cottage in Hogsmeade, his talents supressed and wasted. 

Slughorn had called for silence and was beginning his introduction to the course, when the door to the dungeon classroom was pushed open, and all eyes swivelled towards it, ever-nosey to see the late student do the walk of shame towards the single, empty stool that was at the front of the room, right under Slughorn’s moustachioed nose. 

The murmurs of shock that could be heard as Draco Malfoy entered the room were less of a ripple and more of a combined intake of breath, her own included. He was clad in his uniform, Slytherin tie and jumper, his book bag slung across his body. He sauntered to the front of the classroom, not making eye-contact with anyone, and sat himself down in the empty seat. 

“Just arrived, Mr Malfoy?” Slughorn asked, his bushy eyebrows lifted in expectation of an apology. 

“Yeah. Sorry I’m late, Sir. A few … legalities to sort out before I could get here. You understand, of course?”

“Oh. Yes, well … I suppose so. Try and make this the last time you are late to my class, eh, Draco? It doesn’t set a good example to the younger ones.”

“Certainly … Sir.”

Malfoy pulled his textbook from his bag and opened it on the first page on the bench in front of him, clearly declaring the exchange over. 

“What the fuck is he doing here?” hissed Dean, leaning towards her. 

“I have no idea,” she muttered in response, not able to take her eyes off the blond wizard now leafing idly through the Advanced Potions text. 

Tuning out Professor Slughorn’s droning voice, Hermione set the cogs of her brain into action. What was Draco Malfoy doing here, in school uniform, in her Potions class? It was her understanding that all bearers of the Dark Mark had been imprisoned in Azkaban. So how could he be here? 

The last time she had seen Malfoy was in the burning Room of Requirement, where she, Harry and Ron had risked their own lives to save his, and that of his cronies. Only one of them had survived, however, for Vincent Crabbe had been burnt to death by the Fiendfyre that he’d cast from the end of his own wand. 

Had Draco been in the Great Hall last night for dinner? She couldn’t remember clearly, but was convinced that had he been there, she would definitely have noticed him. And hadn’t he said something about just arriving, about sorting out ‘legalities’? What kind of legalities? Had Malfoy managed to talk himself out of Azkaban, and back into the school that he personally had helped to destroy? It was unfathomable, and her head began to ache and thump with stress. 

Seeing his distinctive white-blond hair transported her back to laying helpless on the carpet of his family home, being tortured by Bellatrix and sexually violated by Greyback. 

Draco had watched. She remembered his pale, pinched face watching everything that was being done to her, as Bellatrix had sunk her dagger into her and Greyback had slavered between her legs. Malfoy had not moved to help her. He had not shown one bit of emotion, nor recognition. The memory cascaded through her mind like an unpleasant, ice-cold shower. 

Suddenly, as if he could hear the whirring of her thoughts, Draco Malfoy turned his head to the side so that he was facing her directly, and looked her straight in the eye. She could not look away. The expression on his face was unreadable. It could have been regret, it could have been malice, she simply could not tell. Thankfully, his attention was then called by Professor Slughorn, forcing him to turn away. 

The unwelcome connection broken, she was able to bring her eyes back to the textbook in front of her, although not without noticing the triumphant smirk on Ginny Weasley’s face as she noted the visual exchange that had occurred between herself and Draco Malfoy. 

She narrowed her eyes at Hermione as if to say, ‘I told you I knew the truth’. 

Hermione shook her head, sadly, and Ginny looked away. 

-xxx-

After half-an-hour lecturing the assembled class on the uses and preparation of an Elixir to Induce Euphoria, Professor Slughorn instructed the students to proceed to the storeroom, collect their ingredients, and begin brewing. They all rose as one, but before anybody could move from his or her seat, Slughorn’s voice was heard above the chatter. 

“Miss Granger! I say, Miss Granger!”

Everyone stopped, wanting to hear why their famous classmate was being singled out by the teacher. 

“Yes, Sir?”

“You will need to step out for the rest of the lesson, I am afraid. The Elixir to Induce Euphoria contains a potent form of Poppyroot, its crushed stamen, to be exact, used to create the base of the solution, which is unsafe for children and … expectant females.”

What? Was he serious?

“Can’t I just watch, and not touch any of it, Sir? I really don’t want to miss the preparation, particularly if this Potion is going to be on our exam.”

“Absolutely not, Miss Granger. If there were an accident it would be upon my conscience, let alone my teaching record. Now, off you pop, write up your notes for this lesson and write me an essay discussing the Elixir from a theoretical perspective.”

Getting up, and crossly stuffing her books and parchments into her bag, Hermione was both annoyed and humiliated to be singled out and discriminated against in such a manner. 

“Why would you choose this potion to brew, Professor, knowing that I would be unable to participate? Could a suitable substitution not have been made?”

The florid man looked awkward, small beads of sweat appearing on his brow. 

“Miss Granger, my lesson plans are created well in advance. I apologise, but I have never in all my years had to substitute a brew to meet the needs of a pregnant witch. It seems that since you are the anomaly, it should be you that makes the concession, rather than the whole class missing a brew solely due to your … condition.”

He had made his meaning and his feelings crystal and painfully clear, and called her a bloody anomaly. How rude. 

With as much dignity as she could muster, Hermione swept her bag from the surface of the bench, placed it over her shoulder, and stalked towards the classroom door, flinging it open and stepping into the welcomingly cool hallway of the dungeon corridor. She felt hot tears of humiliation sting her eyes, and she closed the door quietly behind her, heading down the corridor towards the main stairwells, needing to get to her own room.

In the classroom she had just left, there was a stunned silence. 

It stayed thus when Draco Malfoy got to his feet, leaving his books strewn over the workbench, and headed for the door through which Hermione Granger had just exited. 

“I’m just going to check if she’s alright,” he told Professor Slughorn, by way of explanation.

“Why would you, of all people, need to do that, Mr Malfoy?” replied Slughorn, looking to Dean Thomas, who had been seated with Hermione and wore the same colour tie, for his agreement. 

“Why, because that’s his baby she’s carrying, Professor,” Ginny Weasley shot out, loudly and to gasps of surprise from the rest of the class, Dean included. 

“Is it really? I had no idea. I was under the impression that Miss Granger had not named …” he trailed off, realising that the discussion he was about to engage in was most inappropriate in front of a class of students. 

“Very well, boy, off you go. But make it quick. Miss Granger has already disrupted enough of this lesson, and you have a potion to brew.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Draco left the classroom, making sure to close the door very firmly behind him as the rest of the students finally began to troop towards the store cupboard and begin their brew. 

-xxx-

Hermione was halfway down the hallway when she heard quickening footsteps behind her. Turning around, expecting to see Dean, or maybe even Ginny perhaps contrite, she was taken aback to see Draco. 

“What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked, crossly, wiping a few tears from her eyes with a rough swipe of her jumper sleeve, hating to cry in front of Draco, of all people. 

“I heard a rumour, Granger,” he drawled, scanning his eyes over her belly with an indecently slow sweep. “A friend of mine owled me last night regarding a most interesting argument he heard between yourself and that redheaded Weasley slut, in the entrance hall.”

“Well, bravo you. Congratulations on being able to eavesdrop by proxy. Let me save you the time and trouble of telling me what you think you know. Since you and I are both aware that for you to be this baby’s father is a physical impossibility, I wonder why you took the time to come all the way back here.”

“I was returning anyway. It was my parents’ wish that I do so. Like I told Slughorn, there were a few final legalities to clear before I could set foot in Hogwarts again.”

“Like flaying that dirty brand from your left arm?”

Draco’s face contorted into a pained, angry sneer. He grabbed hold of her, his grip solid and unyielding, dragging her along the corridor until they reached a small stairwell, its entrance no bigger than a doorway. He shoved her up a few steps, followed her, and pulled the door closed behind them. 

“What the fuck …”

“Language, Granger,” he tutted, pulling out his wand and casting a Lumos so they could see each other. 

“Oh, piss off, Malfoy. Why aren’t you in Azkaban? I know your parents are.”

“I was,” he hissed, “I was in fucking Azkaban, alright? And it was hell.”

He looked genuinely pained.

“So why are you here now?”

“A relative of my father hired a wizarding solicitor. He petitioned the Wizengamot to have me released since I was not of age when I received the Mark. Put simply, he blamed everything on my father, and provided I don’t put a foot wrong, I have my freedom.”

“Unlike your parents.”

“Yes, you bitch, unlike my parents. But I also have the whole family estate in my name, which is a pretty good sweetener. What do you have? Your Muggle parents are dead, and you have some bastard kid growing inside you – tell me, its Potter’s, isn’t it? Is that why you’re keeping it a secret? And why his little girlfriend is so keen to pass it off as mine?”

Draco shocked her to silence for a moment. He thought her parents were dead? Had Severus put the rumour amongst the Death Eaters that the Grangers had been killed, another way to keep them safe? She would have to ask him. 

“Granger. I’m talking to you. Can you hear me?”

She rolled her eyes at him. 

“Yes, I can hear you, and your terribly fascinating thoughts and insights. Now, if you’ll excuse me from this delightful chat, I’d like to go to my room.”

Hermione tried to edge past him, but he blocked her way, pushing her back against the wall. He was not rough, and did not hurt her, but his grip was firm and insistent. 

“Who does that baby belong to, Granger? I saw what happened, you know I did. Greyback was a dirty pervert, the way he was touching you, but he didn’t get anywhere near your juicy little cunt.”

“Don’t be so disgusting! How dare you …”

“Oh, spare me! You and I both know that you and Potter were going at it like nifflers last year. If that baby was Weasley’s he’d have you married and locked away by now, so it can’t be his. But you need to protect Saint Potter’s reputation, not to mention his relationship. Am I right?”

“No, you are wrong. Not that it matters, since it is absolutely none of your business. Now please, let me go. This is ridiculous.”

“I said, whose is that baby, Granger?”

Malfoy pressed her harder into the wall, taking hold of her chin and hissing the question into her face. He raised his wand hand so that the Lumos that shone from the end was pointing directly down upon them. 

She hadn’t expected it, and was not quick enough to block the initial intrusion. 

Holding her face rigid, he caught her eyes and his mind bored into hers without warning. His skill was unexpected, she had no idea that Draco was a Legilimens. Rather than the polite pressing against her mind that both Severus and Dumbledore had used, this was a hard, vicious probe, not dissimilar to the painful mind-ransacking that Bellatrix Lestrange had used against her and the boys at Malfoy Manor. 

Bellatrix! She was Draco’s aunt. She must have taught him. 

Malfoy careered into her mind like a speeding train, slap-bang into a memory of herself and Severus in the tent, making love, the night their daughter had been conceived. It had been brought right to the forefront of her mind as he had asked the question, which had surely been his intention before Legilimising her. 

Panicked, she brought down the white mist over everything else, the hissing steam blocking his view into the rest of her mind. She didn’t care that he knew she was Occluding, she just needed him out. 

He pulled back, releasing the connection and his grip on her face at the same time. The self-satisfied smirk on his face confirmed to her that she’d reacted a split-second too late. Draco had seen enough to answer his question. He let out a slow whistle, shaking his head. 

“Fucking hell, Granger. Now that I did not expect to see. How long were you shagging Snape for, you dirty slut? They say it’s always the quiet ones you need to watch. I knew nothing about that man, not if he hid … this.”

She remained silent, feeling tears prick the back of her eyes. She would not give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing her cry. 

“Well, that puts an entirely new perspective on things.”

He leaned back against the opposite wall, although they were still fairly close together, since it was so narrow, and unnecessarily inspected his fingernails. 

“I’d like to offer you a solution, Granger. One I was going to offer you anyway, but now do much more gladly, knowing that the kid’s father is dead, and that you aren’t carrying Potter’s illegitimate spawn.”

“What are you talking about? A solution to what?” she spat. 

“To your … little problem.”

He gestured a mocking finger towards her small bump, and she curled her hands around it protectively. 

“My daughter is not a problem.”

“A baby witch, eh? Nice work.”

“What do you want from me? If you’re going to tell everyone, you might as well just go and do it. I’m alone anyway. I only wanted to protect his memory, I didn’t want anyone to think he took advantage of me.”

Draco chuckled.

“Oh, he took advantage of you, alright. You think you were the only student he fucked? Don’t flatter yourself, Granger. Anyway, the greasy bastard is dead, there’s not a lot he can do for you now, or your bastard kid.”

Her heart ached with every one of Malfoy’s cruel words.

“I can offer you protection. Protection from gossip both within this school, and in the wider world. I have an entire estate that I live in alone. I have enough money to keep you and this baby, and some children of our own, too. Raise Snape’s child as mine, and you will want for nothing. Think carefully before answering, because I won’t offer again. Refuse me, and you’ll regret it.”

“Why … on earth would you want to do that?” Hermione spluttered, desperately searching for the right words. 

Draco took a step towards her, and with that single movement, he was too close. He lifted his hand to her face and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, before stroking gently down her cheek, leaving his hand to rest on her shoulder. She cringed under his touch. 

“I have lost everything, I don’t mind admitting that. My family, my friends, my reputation. You can help me restore that. Stop me from me being alone, and your good reputation will enhance mine.”

Was he actually serious? She suspected he was, and it terrified her. 

“I’ve always fancied you, Granger.” 

Malfoy leaned forwards, making to kiss her, and she turned her face to the side so his lips landed on her cheek. He pressed into her, pushing her against the wall, kissing his way to her ear.

“If you don’t agree, everyone in this school will know that the late Headmaster Snape fathered that baby before the day is out,” he whispered, nipping at her earlobe and making her jump. 

She had to talk to Severus, urgently. She would go to the library just before curfew and ask Eileen to take a message to him. But before that, she could not allow Malfoy to ruin everything. She would have to placate him for now, she would have to play his game, however much it made her stomach turn. 

“Okay, fine,” she replied, pushing him off her ear. “But don’t be an arse. And you have to swear to keep your word.”

“I have no intention of being an arse, Granger. I have every intention of making you love me, of creating a family together. I need a witch like you.”

Urgh. 

Draco slid his hand behind her neck, dipping into her hair and angling her face to receive his kiss. She would have to do this, for now. She’d endured far worse, after all, and this was only a kiss, in the grand scheme of things. 

He moved his face nearer, his ice-blue eyes focused on hers, which for the first time seemed warm and genuine, which was a strange thought to have. As he touched her with his lips, he shuttered them closed, and his pale eyelashes, that were so very long, grazed the tops of his cheeks. 

Hermione allowed him to kiss her, the soft feel of his lips moving upon hers not at all unpleasant, and she let out a gasp as he pushed his tongue between her lips and into her mouth, searching for her own tongue rather than dominating it. It was surprising. She still didn’t want to be kissing him, but if she had to, a good kiss was better than a revolting one. 

At length, he drew back, a curious smile on his face that she had not seen before. Had this forced commitment that he had extracted from her under duress actually made him happy? 

“I have to get back to Potions. That Elixir to Induce Euphoria won’t brew itself, you know.”

“You’ll let me use your notes afterwards?” she replied, making an attempt to play along. 

“Of course. Anything I can do for you, I will. You’ve made the right choice, Granger. The protection of a Malfoy is very powerful.”

He planted a final quick kiss on her mouth before pushing open the door at the bottom of the stairwell and heading back down the dungeon corridor towards the Potions classroom. Hermione stepped down and went the opposite way, in the direction she had been going when he had accosted her. 

The protection of a Malfoy is very powerful. 

Well, that was a load of rubbish, since the entire family had managed to land themselves in Azkaban, with Draco only released on a mere technicality. But for the moment, she needed him to keep her secret until she could speak to Severus and work out what they should do. 

Hermione headed for the library, bidding Madam Pince a good afternoon as she entered. Seating herself at a small table and taking out her Potions textbook and a sheaf of parchment, she composed a note to Severus, telling him that she really needed to see and speak to him, and could he arrange with his mother a way to do so? She opted not to tell him about Malfoy, Ginny or the detentions in a letter. Those little delights could wait until they were face-to-face.

Walking over to the desk, she handed Eileen the rolled parchment. 

“Excuse me, Madam Pince. Would you be able to deliver this, please, when you return to Hogsmeade this evening?” she asked, willing Eileen to understand. “The long walk up to the Owlery is too much for me now, and it is very important that my letter goes today. I thought if you would be passing the Owl Post Office anyway …?”

Eileen nodded curtly in comprehension. 

“Thank you, Madam Pince. I really appreciate that.”

“You are welcome, Miss Granger. Now please tidy away those books you were using before you leave.”

Hermione wandered back from the library towards her chambers, hoping that Severus would find some way to reply to her quickly. She was worried about him, about his mental state, more than anything. 

He couldn’t stay cooped up in the cottage indefinitely, and she had a nagging worry that he would become so frustrated that he would do something stupid that would threaten their whole situation. 

She was right.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She would be a fool to stay with him, Severus thought, for he had nothing to offer, and being with him would cost her dearly.

Severus was restless. It was unsurprising, really, since he’d been cooped up in his mother’s rather floral cottage for several months now, and his physical healing was complete, in his opinion. He would be damned if he would while away the remainder of his precious days rattling around between these four walls, solely due to fear of what might be waiting outside them. If there was one thing that Severus Snape was not, it was a coward. 

He entertained fanciful notions of leaving the country, of joining a magical community abroad and creating a new life for himself. This was an improvement on his mental state from even a few months previously, where he could not see a future past the end of the war, and he’d given serious consideration to the idea that if he was not killed in battle, he’d finish off the job himself. 

However, he no longer felt that way. He wanted to live, wanted to see what life could be like when one was free of the control of masters to whom he had sworn eternal allegiance. Not to mention the delightful young witch that he’d become utterly obsessed with; mind, body and soul, that he wanted to keep entirely as his own. 

Severus was terrified of the prospect of becoming a father, but it seemed such a distant, far-off thing that he’d successfully managed to keep it in the back recesses of his mind, damping down worries whenever they popped to the surface. He would have to face his concerns at some point, however, for he could hardly expect a nineteen-year-old to have the wherewithal to raise a child without help, although when said nineteen-year-old was Hermione Granger, one could never presume to guess what she might be capable of achieving, especially under pressure. 

Using the unregistered wand, he Apparated from the cottage directly into the dusty living room of his grotty terraced house in Spinner’s End, a two-up, two-down relic from a bygone age when Cokeworth had once boomed with gainfully-employed mill workers. Now the street where he had grown up looked tired and decayed, many of the houses there boarded up or in varying states of disrepair. 

He returned here every summer holiday when the school was closed, but his mother had never returned, not since the day she had finally raised her wand against her abusive husband. She had simply vanished in to thin air, as if Eileen Snape had never existed.   
Irma Pince arriving at Hogwarts a year after he started teaching there had been a shock. Recognising her instantly despite over five years with no contact from his mother, it had taken many stilted conversations over many months for her to finally invite him to her Hogsmeade cottage so that they could talk freely.

Eileen had wanted to watch over him, having heard dreadful tales of his dalliances with the Dark Arts and his association with the Death Eaters during the years she had secreted herself in the attempt to evade justice for the murder of Tobias Snape. Severus found it curiously pleasant to have her around the castle, and since they were to never reveal their true relationship of mother and son, he found that on those days when he wanted to ignore her, he could do so quite easily. 

She’d had plenty to say about his relationship with Hermione, at that point still a student under his care, despite being technically of age. His mother had warned him to cease his actions, lest he land himself into serious trouble, but at that point in Dumbledore’s game he had genuinely stopped caring. He wanted Miss Granger, and since he was convinced he would be killed within a few months, he was damn well going to take what was being offered. 

Hermione had shown him the first affection since he was a small boy, when even then Eileen had been too scared to stand up against Tobias’ unjust and often brutal discipline of their odd, skinny little son. 

In truth, Severus had been lost to Hermione since the first time she’d placed her small hands upon him. The warmth of her subtle yet powerful magic had blended perfectly with his own magical signature, creating a concoction that was more dangerous than any bottle of Amortentia. He became addicted to her from that very moment. 

He remembered himself with Lily Evans, one summer holiday as teenagers, when they were both home from school. They had been over in the woods that ran alongside the canal in Cokeworth, finding peace and quiet from the shitty Muggle kids behind a large oak tree, deep in the woods. He had been convinced at that moment of being completely in love with Lily, and making covert plans to ask her out, not that they ever came to fruition, since that September, back at school, James Potter had … happened. 

What he had now with Hermione transcended all of that, making Severus realise just how foolish he’d been to set so much store by his feelings for Lily. 

It had been nothing more than a teenage crush that he’d allowed to get out of hand, never attempting to show an interest in other witches at school due to his misguided loyalty towards her, instead immersing himself in the Dark Arts and inappropriate companions. 

When Lily and James Potter had met their untimely deaths so early in life, he had blamed himself, and taken a burden upon his shoulders that in truth, was never his to carry. He had saddled himself with an unnecessary debt that had taken him twenty years to pay off, and nearly killed him, in the process. 

Everything was different now. 

Against every self-loathing thought, Hermione Granger appeared to be his. 

He thought back to the early days of their forbidden interactions. It had been odd, that they’d had full intercourse twice before he even plucked up the courage to kiss her. The day when she had offered herself to him, offered to relieve him of his hated virginity in return for her first orgasm, and laid herself open to his greedy eyes upon his own bed … he would struggle to recall just how many times he had wanked over that exact moment. 

Severus remembered their first, awkward kiss in a deserted corridor after the Christmas party, where she had stood up to him, challenged him, demanded to know why he hadn’t done so before. She had taken the self-righteous wind out of his billowing sails with one sentence. He had dropped his lips to hers and embarrassingly demonstrated his absolute ineptness at the skill, and Granger had taken hold of his head so gently, guiding him into the position he needed, teasing the kiss out of him until he could have held back no longer. 

In the middle of the old sitting room at Spinner’s End, Severus felt the beginnings of an erection swelling inside his trousers at his thoughts of Hermione, and he lowered a hand to cup and heft it through the material. He would deal with that later, once back in bed and with one of his many memories of her to aid his completion. 

He opted to focus on the task in hand, which was taking all items that he needed from Spinner’s End. There was no way either he or his mother could sell it, as that would mean revealing themselves, so they’d had to accept it was lost to them, not that the tumbledown Cokeworth houses were worth much money, nowadays. The former mill town was now practically a ghost town, most houses were either boarded up or used by squatters or junkies – often both. 

Opening the bag that he had imbued with an Extension charm, Severus moved rapidly about the shitty house collecting up all the things that he could not bear to leave behind – not that there were many of them. He had cleared Eileen’s belongings from the house years ago, not long after his father had died and she had vanished. 

Books, all of them, went into the bag. If they needed further sorting, he would do it at the cottage. At some point, this house was liable to be broken into and used by squatters, since it was so regularly unoccupied, and he needed to ensure that not one magical text was left behind. 

Taking out the unregistered wand, he cast a Revelio upon a bricked-up space at the side of the fire, which crumbled at the cast, pushing out of the wall and revealing a small compartment behind. He drew everything out, his items that he kept well away from the wizarding world – his British passport, his driving licence, his Muggle bank account and a wallet filled with Muggle money. Severus suspected that these things, at some point in the very near future, would prove useful. 

He already had vague plans of resettling in the Muggle world, hiding in plain sight from those who sought him. Unfortunately, it was still very much that - a vague plan. He had no bloody idea what to do next. 

He should be dead, for Merlin’s sake. That would have been so much more convenient. 

-xxx-

At midnight, Severus was fully dressed and standing before the fire in the cottage living room. His mother had come through the Floo earlier that afternoon, bringing with her a note from Hermione, who appeared to be desperate to talk to him. Knowing that she would not have sent such a missive without great need, he instructed Eileen to covertly tell Hermione to wait in the library at midnight, locking herself in with the main door key that she still had in her possession. 

There was no possible way he would encourage her to sneak out of the castle and down into Hogsmeade in her condition, therefore he had to do the unthinkable and return to Hogwarts for the first time since he had deserted his post as headmaster. 

Straightening his coat, he snatched up a handful of Floo powder from the mantel, and tossed it into the fire, the flames spitting green as he stepped over the grate, following the route his mother took to work each morning. 

-xxx-

Hermione shivered in the dark, empty library, wishing she’d had the common sense to be wearing more than a thin robe over her nightgown. Her feet were bare, which had certainly made creeping Disillusioned along the hallways easier, but they were now freezing. She didn’t risk more than a dim Lumos from the end of her wand, enough to be able to see the keyhole to lock the main door behind her. 

She had no idea whereabouts to wait. The note that had been slipped under her chamber door had simply told her to be in the library at midnight, and not to forget the Disillusionment charm. 

The enormous fireplace suddenly lit up with a roar of green flame, and Severus came walking through, his height filling the grate entirely, fully dressed in his all-black attire, his long cloak billowing behind him as he stepped through the illuminating flames like some kind of tall, dark fire-spirit. 

Hermione all but ran towards him and launched herself into his arms, seeking his warmth and his comfort, that familiar smell and feel of him. Two years ago, it would have been unthinkable to be throwing herself into the waiting arms of Professor Snape in the Hogwarts library, but he was a completely different person to her, now. 

The dark, unconventionally handsome wizard was now her comfort, her joy, and her safe harbour. Her relief at being enveloped in his strong embrace brought tears to her eyes, the true hideousness of the day fully dawning on her for the first time. Severus held her tightly as she sobbed, not interrupting, just supporting her, and she loved him for it. How could Draco Malfoy ever think he compared to a wizard such as this? 

At length, she drew back, pulling him towards one of the large, solid wood library tables, which she perched upon to bring her face more level with his. 

“I cannot explain, Severus. Could you just …?”

“You would like me to view for myself?”

“Yes please.”

“Very well.”

Tenderly thumbing one side of her face, he drew his wand and cast a Legilimens upon her, entering her mind as gently as he could. Immediately, she pushed her memories at him, he would find them there waiting for him at the forefront of her mind, no need to search. 

She watched him view the memories of the Welcome Feast, and of her altercation with Ginny Weasley in the entrance hall, making her accusation that their baby was Draco Malfoy’s child, and then felt him chuckle as she angrily hexed the redhead full in the face with a stinging jinx. 

“Nicely done,” he murmured, stroking the hand that was not holding his wand steady, down her upper arm. 

Hermione felt his pride as she shone in Charms, and then his annoyance at Ginny’s comments as she had barged out of the classroom. He skimmed through Transfiguration and Ancient Runes, guided by the feelings he could sense that all had been well in those classes. 

And then on to Potions. He’d physically flinched when he’d watched Malfoy saunter into the dungeon classroom, sensing her own shock but also his own. He watched her discuss Malfoy’s shock return with Dean Thomas in hissed tones, and narrowed his eyes disapprovingly as Draco had caught her gaze, and felt her unable to break the connection. 

Hermione felt his disappointment as Professor Slughorn had banished her from the classroom for the remainder of the lesson due to the use of Poppyroot, and his sorrow as she’d walked resignedly down the corridor, heading towards the library to write up the small amount of information she’d gleaned from the day’s class. 

Severus knew there was more, though. The black aura that was now threading its way around the memory warned him that the worst was still to come. He kept his wand steady and trained upon her, probing further, wanting to discover just what had happened that had shaken her to the core. Hermione Granger would not be undone by a bit of bullying and partisan teaching, there must surely be more to it than that. The single tear that dripped down her cheek told him there was. 

He watched Malfoy catch up with her, yank her roughly into the concealed stairwell and make his appalling offer. His heart began to pound as he viewed the memory from her perspective, the panic she had felt at Draco’s discovery of their secret, and the ruthless efficiency with which she’d successfully Occluded the rest of her mind, hiding the full extent of their relationship and his own continued existence on the planet. 

He felt her despair as she allowed that little bastard to kiss her, and her resolve that she needed to speak to him, to seek guidance, and her sense of helplessness lest Malfoy expose them. 

At length, he gently withdrew from her mind, able to see her face clearly now, wrought with anxiety and sadness. 

“I’m so sorry,” she told him, her voice barely more than a whisper. 

He took hold of both her arms and made her look at him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Hermione. You did what you felt was best in that appalling sitation. However, I must inform you that should I ever have the good fortune to meet Draco Malfoy alone in a dark alleyway, rest assured that I shall take great pleasure in removing his tongue from his mouth for his attempt to relieve me of what is mine – and for having the effrontery to kiss you against your will.”

“I let him.”

“I know. And it turns my stomach, but sadly I feel your actions were entirely justified at that time. I too have been forced to performs deeds that I found distasteful, simply because they were expected.”

He thought briefly of his Death Eater meetings, of the depths of depravity to which he had been obliged to sink, Hermione’s kiss with Draco Malfoy was a mere drop in the ocean by comparison. He could not, and would not, allow himself to be angry or jealous, as much as he might have liked to.

“Please kiss me, Severus.”

How could he refuse such a request, coming as it did from this small witch with the abundant hair falling in waves down her back? She was perched on the library table in her nightwear, her feet bare, their child growing within her, begging for his kiss. Was there ever a more perfect offer than that?

He cupped her face, curling his face into a secretive smile, making sure it reached his eyes, and leaned towards her, bumping his mouth against hers and feeling her tongue reach out immediately and brush his lips. 

“You desire only me, Hermione?”

“I do. I promise I do.”

“Then show me.”

She immediately raised her hands to his head, threading her fingers through his too-long hair and clenching two fistfuls, pulling him firmly towards her, opening his mouth with her tongue and pushing inside, seeking his own tongue and coiling hers around it, delivering a wet and passionate kiss. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight against him, feeling the warm bump that contained their precious daughter pressing on his own stomach. 

Severus felt his cock begin to harden, and was annoyed at his lack of control around this witch. Really, he had no subtlety or grace when it came to sexual contact with her. He groaned and pulled back slightly, a sheepish but cross look upon his face. 

“I am sorry. I find myself with little control around you, Hermione.”

She smiled. 

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

He embraced her, her face laying upon his chest. 

“What shall we do now, Severus? I mean with Draco.”

“I do not know. My immediate thought was to have you perform an Obliviate so that he does not remember who the baby belongs to, but I noticed that he said he would still have made you the offer, so his desire and intentions towards you were present before he discovered that the baby is mine. I believe that would be far too much information to attempt to Obliviate, and you would be unwise to try, for it could lead to permanent loss of memory and you would most likely do a great deal of damage.”

Hermione felt an enormous pang of regret at his words, for had she not performed the exact same action upon her own parents? Severus had all but confirmed that their condition, the one she had caused, was permanent. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind had always been the hope that she would find them, restore their memories and return them to England, but that seemed unlikely now. She wanted to cry, but felt that they had a far more pressing matter to deal with. Her parents were safe, that was all that mattered, she told herself. 

“Would you leave?” he asked, suddenly, and his dark eyes were serious as he posed the question. 

“Leave school?”

“School, your friends … leave England. Everything.”

“You mean run away?”

“In a manner of speaking. We will not be allowed to live a peaceful life here, Hermione. Or should I say, I will not be. You, of course, are free to do as you choose. I would not want to hinder you in any way, my shame shall not be yours.”

“You have no need to feel shame. For anything.”

“And yet I find myself persecuted by the Ministry from beyond the grave. Make no mistake, if it were discovered that I was still alive, I would be hauled before the Wizengamot for a full criminal trial, and most likely imprisoned in Azkaban, where I will without doubt be killed for my treachery by the incarcerated and disgruntled Death Eaters who are currently baying for my blood from inside the prison walls. However, you, my angel, have choices. And I need you to make them.”

Severus had laid the grim truth out bare in front of her. 

He had given her the choice. Offered her a chance to make a life without him, free of the persecution that being with him would entail. The chance of a life not lived in fear of the next knock on the door. The chance to raise a child without stigma of her parenthood. He would sacrifice his own happiness for hers. 

Hermione thought, and considered carefully. 

After his initial rudeness and roughness when he’d first approached her, she believed that Malfoy had actually been sincere when he made his offer. His kiss had been gentle and searching, not claiming or vengeful. There was no question he was a handsome young wizard, the same age as her, intelligent and magically talented. He had a heart, and feelings, they just needed to be nurtured, something she would be able to do now that his vicious family members were out of the way, kept on a windswept rock in the North Sea for an indefinite period. 

What Draco was proposing was far more to her advantage than his. A Muggle-born, bonded to one of the most long-established pureblood families in the wizarding world? A secure future for her daughter, brought up with all the privilege that a Malfoy could provide, despite her paternity. Protection, stability, and perhaps love? 

She would be a fool not to accept. 

Severus watched as her mind processed all the information. He would not rush her, however much her long silence and careful consideration was scaring him. Hermione was a logician, he knew this, for he had been inside her mind. She would be considering every one of the options, without deference to anything so inane as love. She would be a fool to stay with him, for he had nothing to offer, and being with him would cost her dearly. 

Hermione watched the worries etch their way across his face, knowing exactly what he was thinking. If you knew how to find them, the dark wizard’s feelings were an open book, written across his face in the lines and furrows you found there. 

Yes, to secure her own future, accepting Draco’s offer was indeed preferable to the uncertainty and danger that life with Severus would surely present. 

However. 

Hermione Granger was nobody’s whore. 

She liked Draco, despite everything, but did not love him. 

Draco’s kiss had been pleasant, but the touch of his lips didn’t burn like a fire in her soul, as Severus’ did. 

Draco had plenty of money, but she had enough, and enough was all she needed. 

Draco had offered her the protection of his name and blood status, but Severus would protect her with all the blood in his body. He would die for her. 

Draco could raise her daughter as his own, but Severus would love her daughter with every fibre of his being, for she was his. 

A life with Severus would mean a life fraught with uncertainty, but she found it difficult to care. Love was love, and ultimately, as Harry had found out, love was the most powerful magic of all. 

“I’ve made my choice.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, terrified to hear her answer but trying not to show it. 

“There is absolutely no contest,” she said, simply, and as quick as a flash, she snaked her arms around his neck and stole his lips. 

Granger was choosing him? Above all that Malfoy could offer?

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, lest his angel fly away. He kissed her back, forcing his tongue into her mouth and sweeping it deeply around every corner, enjoying the sounds of pleasure he was eliciting. She grabbed handfuls of his hair, exciting every nerve ending on his scalp, driving him harder into the frantic, open-mouthed kiss. 

Severus dropped one hand and placed it on her leg, sliding up her thigh and under her nightgown, higher and higher until he found what he was seeking. He squeezed her bare arse, causing her to twitch her hips upwards and he moved his searching hand quickly to the front, delving between her legs which she opened for him with a sigh of pleasure. 

He pushed his fingers inside her with the same thrusting motion as his tongue, plundering both her mouth and her cunt simultaneously, and her gasp of pleasured surprise travelled straight to his cock, which was now causing an almost-painful straining at the front of his trousers. 

Severus attacked her clitoris with his thumb as he crooked his fingers inside her to agitate it from both sides. Burrowing beneath the fleshy hood he began to flicker across the hard little bud, still kissing her passionately, wanting to feel her climax both in his hand and his mouth as he debauched her on a Hogwarts library table in the dead of night. 

There was no good sense in what they were doing, but the castle walls could have fallen down around them and he still would not have been persuaded to stop. 

This witch was his, and he was claiming her. Fuck you, Draco Malfoy, you slimy little shit, Hermione Granger is something your money can’t buy. You’ve had enough from me – I spilled my blood in your family home more times than I can count and I damned my fucking soul to save yours. 

You are not … having … her.

Hermione’s fragrant cunt was now dripping in his hand as he masturbated her, and she was panting into his mouth; she would not be long now. He growled, feeling it rumble against her tongue, so that she would know how much he wanted her. With a final squeal, she released, rutting her hips against his invading hand as her inner walls pulsed in orgasm around his fingers, her mouth wide open, with his tongue inside it. 

Bloody fucking Merlin, she was exquisite when she climaxed. He cupped her pussy while it pulsed with aftershocks, enjoying the sensation, his other arm around her heaving shoulders, kissing the top of her curly head.

“I am humbled by your choice, Hermione,” he whispered. 

“It was always going to be you, Severus.”

At length, once she had fully recovered, he released her, reaching for the top of her dressing gown and sliding the thin garment from her shoulders and down her arms. She pulled her arms out and the gown was laid out on the table behind her, he drew his wand and cast a Cushioning Charm upon it before reaching to cup himself through his trousers. 

“Granger, I want to …”

“I know. So do I, Sir. My favourite professor in my favourite room.”

He raised an eyebrow at her cheek, and Hermione lay back on the dressing gown, which was now providing cushioned support against the heavy, unforgiving wood of the large library table, gazing around at the high ceilings of the ancient room, breathing in the heady smell of the old parchment and the leather-bound books. 

Severus released his cock, which sprung to attention as if it had just been liberated from prison. It had only been a few days since he’d last made love to her, in the cottage, but it felt like a thousand years, reminiscent of the months they’d spent apart whilst he was headmaster here. 

Pushing up her nightdress to her waist, he revealed a portion of her beautiful, tiny pregnancy bump and the front of her mound, which he stroked gently. He manoeuvred her thighs so that her arse was on the very edge of the table, and then spread them apart so that he could access her cunt, now exposed in all its soaking, luscious glory, her clit still red and engorged from the orgasm he had just driven her to. 

He moved the blunt end of his cock to her opening, and pushed it slowly inside with a long, drawn-out groan of relief. Belatedly, he grabbed his wand and cast a Silencing Charm, he’d been stupid not to do so before. She smiled at him in amusement. 

“I’m going to fuck you, little witch,” he drawled, grabbing a firm hold of her thighs, “I am going to take great pleasure in fucking you right here on this library table, so that every time you study here you are reminded of me.”

He gave a hard, wicked thrust to emphasise his point, making her gasp. 

“I don’t think Madam Pince would approve,” she teased.

“If you could manage not to mention my mother whilst I am fucking you, that would be appreciated, Hermione.”

She laughed out loud. 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t think about that. Please, bring your mind back to me, by all means.”

“I should imagine that will not be too difficult,” he replied, dropping a hand to her well-placed cunt that was spread wide in front of him, and twiddling her over-aroused clitoris, which hopped away from his touch as it was so sensitive, but he wasn’t having any of that, and continued to chase it, tickling her and making her squeal every time he caught it. 

Severus began to thrust inside her, building up a sedate but devastating rhythm that was touching every part of her. His eyes were only part-focused, so she watched him, still clad in his full Professor Snape regalia (had that been a deliberate choice of attire on his part?) only his trousers unzipped that had enabled him to extract his penis. 

The library was dark and gloomy, lit only by the fire that was still burning from when he’d entered through the Floo, and the Lumos that was still glinting from the end of her own wand, now lain on the table next to her. The tall, familiar stacks of books were all around, the smell of musty old parchment heady and familiar. 

And he was fucking her. 

His raven hair swung with the effort of each thrust, his teeth clenched and his cheeks flushed with colour. The sight of his skilful hands, long fingers that for years she had watched prepare potion ingredients with such intricate precision, were now applying that same precision to the plucking of her clitoris, rolling it between his thumb and index finger like a little ball, whilst gently tapping on the tip with his pointer finger. He would make her come again, no doubt about that. Hermione felt her hips begin to thrust involuntarily, and she fixed her gaze on the dark angel labouring above her. 

He would not last much longer. The desperation of the situation, since he should not even be here, stoked him harder and faster, like coals being heaped into the engine of a steam train. 

Severus pulled at her clit, stretching it away from her body and watching her keen in pleasure. As she began to heave with her second orgasm, he sped up his thrusts, pounding into her as she climaxed around his cock, wringing his own orgasm from the end of it. 

“Oh yes …” he hissed, feeling the outer skin on his penis roughly forced up and down as he came, spurting jets of warm spunk inside her. “Fucking hell, yes …”

He gripped her hips, rolling her gently against him as the last aftershocks subsided and they both came down from their respective peaks. 

He stood, fully dressed at the library table, his softening penis still inside her, admiring the magnificent view of this angel on the end of his cock. Fucking her in such a place as this would be filed in his memory forever, he wanted to take it all in. 

At length, he pulled out, and cast cleansing charms over them both before helping her to stand. 

“That was amazing,” she told him, a genuine smile upon her face. 

“I must admit I was not expecting that,” he smirked. 

“Me neither.”

“We have an awfully long way to go, Hermione.”

“I know. But so long as I’m with you, I don’t care. I am rather tough, you know.”

“I am aware of that, you brave, foolish little Gryffindor. But I can make you no promises other than whatever happens, I am loyal to you, and you alone. And if it is what you want, we will be together.”

“You know that is what I want.”

“How extraordinary.”

“Stop it,” she chided, giving him a light swat on the chest. 

“Our plan will be to keep you in Hogwarts as long as possible, hopefully until the end of your courses. I understand how much passing your NEWTs means to you, Hermione. But, as much as I hate asking this of you, should my situation change, should something happen – would you come with me? Would you run? We cannot be together if I am thrown into Azkaban.”

“You do not even have to ask that. We, and by that, I mean all three of us,” she replied, rubbing a protective hand over her bump, “will be together. Always.”

“Always?”

The effect of that word upon him had not lessened over time. Now, reinforced with a deep, reciprocated love, it meant even more. 

“Yes, Severus.”

He held her hands against his chest. 

“Then be prepared for every eventuality, Hermione. Have everything you would ever need inside your expanded bag and keep it with you at every moment, just as you did last year when you were travelling with Potter. Do you have Muggle items – a passport, a bank account?”

She nodded.

“There may come a time when hiding in plain sight is the only option available to us. Both of us know how to live amongst Muggles. If it comes to it, that is what we will do.”

“So long as we are together, I don’t mind.”

“You are aware I believe you to be insane, Miss Granger?” he smiled, stroking the back of her head in a tender gesture that pleasantly sparked the nerve endings in her scalp. 

“You’d probably be right, Professor.”

“Get to bed,” he ordered, conceding that he really ought to leave Hogwarts castle before he was discovered and they were forced to flee earlier than planned. “My daughter needs her sleep, even if you do not.”

“You go,” she told him, “I’ll dampen the fire after you leave.”

He placed a soft kiss on her lips. 

“Never doubt my love for you,” he warned, turning towards the fire before she could respond. 

As Hermione left the library, carefully locking the door behind her, the casting of a Disillusionment spell was the last thing on her mind as she carelessly tiptoed down the corridor with the glimmer of a satisfied smile upon her face.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Put that away, little girl,” Draco hissed, quietly, so that no teacher could hear him, putting his face close to hers in a threatening manner. “Bother me or Granger again, and I won’t just hex you in the face, I’ll put you in the infirmary for a fortnight. Got that, Weasley?”

Hermione realised that Malfoy had every intention of keeping his promise when he sauntered over to the end of the Gryffindor table as breakfast was finishing, picking up her bookbag from the bench next to her and slinging it over his shoulder with his own bag. 

“Time for class, Princess,” he drawled, apparently unconcerned at the shocked looks he was receiving from the nearest occupants of the red-and-gold table. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she muttered, wiping her mouth on a napkin and getting up. 

“You’re with me now, Granger. That means I’m looking after you. And her.”

He gestured towards her little bump, visible through her uniform since she was not wearing her school robe. 

“Well, then I suppose that’s nice of you, Draco,” she conceded, “I’ve got Ancient Runes first, what about you?” 

“Divination,” he replied, standing behind her and holding her Gryffindor school robe so she could slip her arms into it. 

“Really? You never struck me as being particularly interested in the subject.”

“There’s a lot you need to learn about me, Granger. Besides, Firenze is taking the NEWT level students, much to Trelawney’s disgust, and I find that lazing around in the fake moss in his forest classroom a rather relaxing way to spend a double period.”

She smiled, genuinely, at his drollness, and his creativity in scoring himself a nap. 

“I’ll be walking you to Runes first though, and don’t argue with me.”

They turned, Draco putting his arm around her shoulders, and he was guiding her towards the main door when they heard a loud snort of derision from the Gryffindor table, and he whirled around for the source.

“Got something to say, Weasley?” he accused, advancing on Ginny with an expression of wicked intent upon his face. 

“Nothing at all, Malfoy,” she spat, deliberately and mockingly. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” he sneered, “because if you have any other comments regarding me, Hermione or our baby, I suggest you say them to me, rather than continuing to harass a pregnant witch.”

Ginny did not reply, but Hermione could see that she was fuming, her face bright red with anger and her hand twitching upon her wand as if she were about to hex him. His eyes flicked down to see it.

“Put that away, little girl,” he hissed, quietly, so that no teacher could hear him, putting his face close to hers in a threatening manner. “Bother me or Granger again, and I won’t just hex you in the face, I’ll put you in the infirmary for a fortnight. Got that, Weasley?”

She muttered something unintelligible, her face tomato-red, and Malfoy seemed satisfied, standing up and walking back over, returning his arm to Hermione’s shoulders and guiding them out of the Great Hall. 

It was curiously pleasant to be on the receiving end of some rather malevolent Slytherin protection. 

-xxx-

At the end of lunch, it was the same story. Malfoy walked over to the Gryffindor table to collect her again, suggesting they spend the rest of the lunch break outside together since the weather was still so good. Nobody so much as raised an eyebrow nor even glanced in their direction. His threat to Ginny that morning was obviously still fresh in everyone’s minds. 

She bid goodbye to Dean and Neville, telling them that she’d see them both later in Charms, and to her surprise, Draco did the same. Both Gryffindor boys looked taken aback, but returned his pleasantries all the same. 

He led her out into the grounds, which were bathed in gorgeous September sunshine, and they wandered down towards the Black Lake at a relaxed pace, making small talk about the Transfiguration and Potions lessons they had both shared that morning. Draco had sat next to her in both, and thankfully, there had been no potentially toxic ingredients in today’s brew so she had been able to remain for the entire lesson, this time. 

Reaching a semi-secluded spot by the lake, he sat down and laid his cloak on the grass, gesturing for her to sit on it. 

“Who are you, and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?” she smiled, gratefully taking a seat on the Slytherin robe. 

“You can mock, Granger, but this is all part of the plan.”

“And what plan would that be? To undo seven years of being a spoilt, bullying arsehole?”

He looked pained at her harsh words. 

“Exactly that,” he replied, quietly. 

Hermione felt a little guilty for her flippant reply. He must have experienced some horrors during his enforced time as a Death Eater.

Severus had some awful memories, but at least he’d been an adult wizard. Draco had only been a child doing his father’s bidding. The pang in her stomach was something approaching pity.

“Do you have any friends, Draco?” 

He looked out across the lake, toying with a pebble before casually throwing it in the lightly-rippling water, seemingly enjoying the sound of the hollow plop it made. His short, white-blond hair was tousled, falling onto his forehead, and looking far less groomed than she’d ever seen it. The visual was not in any way unpleasant. 

“Depends what you call friends. Crabbe is dead, you know that, and Goyle didn’t return to Hogwarts. I don’t miss either of them, to be honest, fucking goons, the pair of them. Their fathers are both in Azkaban with mine. Parkinson is here, as is Zabini, although they’re seeing each other now. There’s a few others, and a lot of kids who have at least one parent in Azkaban. I’ve been trying to talk to them. It’s a bit shit, really.”

“I can imagine. It isn’t the fault of those children whose parents made the wrong choices.”

“Don’t I know it.”

She put a gentle hand on his arm in a gesture of comfort, her caring nature overcoming any embarrassment. 

“And hopefully,” he said, turning towards her and placing his own hand over hers, “I now have you.”

Hermione suddenly felt horribly deceitful. Everything seemed to point to Malfoy being completely genuine. 

“I don’t … it’s just all really sudden, Draco. You got me to agree to … this by threatening to expose me, and that’s not a good foundation for any relationship to build on.”

“I’m sorry. I genuinely am. I’m so used to getting my own way by threatening and bullying, it’s a hard habit to break. But, trust me, my reasons for wanting you are entirely honourable, if you’ll allow it?”

Hmmm. It wasn’t exactly tantamount to a reassuring explanation of his behaviour towards her. Hermione definitely didn’t trust him, and she definitely didn’t want a relationship with him. But there did seem to be a kind of contrite sadness behind his words and actions, and maybe she could help. There was no point in being unpleasant to Draco, she knew first-hand how quickly his temper could turn. 

His threats to Ginny that morning had been horrible to watch, however much she was secretly pleased that someone had finally put the mouthy youngest Weasley firmly in her place. 

However, it had shown that Draco Malfoy, the bully, was still very much there. 

She looked up as a large crowd of older Ravenclaw students walked down the hill, not bothering them, but they’d clearly noticed the two of them sitting close beside the Black Lake. 

“Kiss me, Granger,” he demanded, turning her face towards him, flicking his eyes towards the approaching students. 

“I don’t think that we should …”

“Just do it. Both of us need the rumour round the school as quickly as possible that we’re together. It gets you out of awkward questions and frankly, looks good on me too.”

He quirked his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, and she couldn’t help but smile. 

“Fine. Do it, then.”

“Is kissing me really that bad?” he moaned, and smiled to show he was teasing, a warm and genuine grin that looked good on his handsome face. 

“It’s ok,” she admitted. “I’ve had worse.”

He laughed and coughed at the same time. 

“You are no good for a wizard’s ego, Granger. Now, come here.”

He caught her around the back of the head and pulled her towards him, pressing his lips to hers and beginning a gentle movement, urging her to follow his lead. She heard the catcalls of the approaching students, whooping loudly and teasing them. Draco had actually been right, for others to presume that they were together and that this was his baby, gave her a chance at a calm, hassle-free existence whilst at school. 

There would be no more awkward questioning about who the father of her baby was, and if she ran into trouble with anyone, as she had with Ginny, well … Malfoy had already proved he would sort any of that out with no hesitation. 

Severus understood. She knew he did, and so she opened her mouth to Draco’s kiss, allowing him to slip his tongue inside and begin to gently conjoin with hers. His lips were warm and full, and there was no doubt he was a good kisser. It wasn’t exactly a hardship. 

So long as it went no further than kissing and hand-holding, Hermione could live with that. After all, they were school pupils, there was hardly going to be an opportunity for enough privacy to go any further. Boys were magically forbidden from entering the girls’ dormitories, and she presumed that her chamber had the same protections, since she was still a student. 

“Liking the snakes now, are you, Granger?” called out a seventh-year Ravenclaw as the group passed by where they were sitting, heading further around the lake. 

Draco stopped kissing her, and looked at the boy who had jeered, his mouth already swollen with her kisses and his green and silver school tie loosened at his neck. 

“Everyone needs a serpent in their life, Bryant, haven’t you heard?” he drawled, lazily. “Now piss off and give us some privacy.”

He returned to kissing her immediately, his passionate snogging silencing any further interest in conversation with the Ravenclaws. Hermione heard them gossiping as they wandered off, no doubt a few would be looking back at them as they sauntered around the Black Lake, enjoying the good weather. 

They continued to kiss, and Malfoy began to breathe a few light moans of enthusiasm into her mouth. She ought to stop this now. Hermione lifted her hand and placed it gently on his chest, meaning to push him back and break the kiss, but instead he took it as encouragement to continue his actions and pushed her backwards, laying her down on his cloak with him alongside her, cupping her face and rolling his tongue even deeper around her mouth, driving the kiss further with wide movements of his jaw. 

“Mr Malfoy! Miss Granger!”

Hermione had never been so glad to hear the strident tones of Professor McGonagall in all her life, as they sprang apart and sat up.

“Get up, the pair of you! This is not how I expect students to be carrying on within this school.”

Draco jumped to his feet and then offered his hand to her, pulling her to stand, and she straightened her shirt and skirt. McGonagall regarded them both, her eyebrows arched into her hairline. Was it Hermione’s imagination, or did she look disappointed?

“I have been made aware that the two of you are far more than friends,” she said, waspishly, eyeing Hermione’s bump, “but let me make it very clear to both of you, that wanton behaviour is not allowed within Hogwarts.”

“I’m very sorry, Professor,” Hermione began, “it won’t happen again, I promise.”

“You are correct, it will not. The school has gone to great lengths to support you both in being able to return to Hogwarts, despite your respective … situations, and I do not expect either of you to repay that kindness by breaking rules. Is that understood?”

They both replied in the affirmative. 

“Twenty points will be taken from both Slytherin and Gryffindor. I expect you both to earn them back by the rest of the week, else I shall take a further ten from each of you.”

McGonagall Apparated away, using the privilege only available to the headmistress. No doubt that was how she had caught them, since they hadn’t seen her coming, and it was a long walk from the castle to their position by the Black Lake. 

“Wanton behaviour?” Draco mocked, and he was fully laughing.

It suited him. 

“We must not be wanton, Malfoy,” she agreed, smiling at him in secret relief that for the most part, he was now obliged to keep his hands off her. 

 

SEVERUS SNAPE SURVIVES THE SNAKE? By Rita Skeeter

“Here at the Prophet, always first for important stories in the wizarding world, we can today bring you the exclusive news that known Death Eater and ousted Headmaster, Severus Snape, may not be as dead as we first believed. 

Further interviews with current Azkaban prisoners have suggested that since Snape’s body was never found, he could still be at large, hiding from retribution somewhere in wizarding Britain. 

Many convicted Death Eaters have supplied the same story, that Snape was a master of smoke and mirrors, adept at talking his way out of the stickiest situations. Could he have wangled the most breathtakingly daring escape of all? 

In the place where Harry Potter, (self-styled ‘Chosen One’) claims he saw Snape fall victim to Voldemort’s snake, nothing was ever found apart from a large pool of blood and a snapped wand, both of which were confirmed as belonging to Severus Snape. 

Could Snape have snapped his own wand in order to evade detection?

Potter’s claims will now be investigated, and testimony will surely be sought from his two closest friends who he insists were also present at the scene of the ‘murder’ – Ronald Weasley, now co-proprietor of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley, and Hermione Granger, now believed to have returned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to repeat her failed seventh year. 

The Auror Office has confirmed they will be conducting interviews with all three ‘witnesses’ in coming week, and that every effort will be made to verify if Snape is alive, and to bring him to justice if he is. 

We shall bring you more news as soon as possible.”

 

Severus threw the paper into the fire. That tabloid hag had done it again. There was no further time to sit around rotting in his mother’s cottage like a feeble imitation of Sirius Black. At least Black had bemoaned his incarceration, ordered to remain at Grimmauld Place by Dumbledore himself. What was he, Severus, doing? He was languishing. He was hiding. 

He wanted Hermione to complete her studies at Hogwarts, but to remain here for a whole year, evading the Aurors? It seemed unlikely, let alone a horrific waste of life. He would give her one more opportunity to free herself from the shackles of a relationship with him; to choose either school, or him. 

She had been very clear last night in the library, but he had no wish to hold her to a decision that would affect the rest of her life. She might decide, if the ‘running away’ was imminent, that it would be in her and the baby’s best interests to remain under Draco Malfoy’s protection instead.

Severus shuddered. The thought of allowing a Malfoy to take his witch and his daughter was abhorrent to him. But nonetheless, the choice had to be hers. She was the one who was sacrificing everything. 

He checked that he had all his possessions of note secured in his black leather bag with the undetectable extension charm, and then slung it across his body, over his shirt, before donning his black frock coat and cloak over the top to keep it safe on his person. He had an important errand to run, one that he had been putting off. 

-xxx-

Malfoy walked Hermione back to her chamber in the guest corridor after their final class of the afternoon. Charms had been excellent, as usual, and Draco was also taking his Charms NEWT, so they had sat together again, recapping the Transforming Charm that Hermione had learnt the previous lesson when he’d been absent, and Hermione found she enjoyed teaching him the new material, for he was a quick study. 

She could feel Ginny’s eyes boring into her like a hot Muggle laser beam, as she and Draco batted the spell back and forth between them, both demonstrating a competency level far superior to the rest of the class and receiving house points from Flitwick, which would go halfway to recouping the points that McGonagall had taken from them for snogging by the lake. 

It was strange, but purely on a friendship level, she was actually enjoying spending time with Malfoy. The snogging aside, he was clever, academically brilliant if truth be known, and the three lessons they’d had together today had been full of their shared theories, racing each other to get their hand in the air first, and good-natured rivalry. She had no doubt they were appearing a little sickening to the observer. 

If only he’d shown this side of himself when they were younger. Things might have been so different, for all of them. 

Hermione was used to having boys as friends, having spent seven years in the company of Ron and Harry, so it was no different to now be spending time with Malfoy, apart from the differing house colours they wore. Along with Dean and Neville, it seemed she had a little crop of friends to hang around with, thank goodness. 

Draco was an absolute prodigy at Potions, far better than her and certainly better than Harry, even when he’d been cheating with Severus’ old textbook. Draco had told her that Severus had been an acquaintance of his family and that he’d spent much time with Snape when he was younger. He had taught Draco a great deal, so that he’d come to Hogwarts at eleven with an arsenal of brewing talent that meant he was sure to outshine every other student. No wonder Severus had been so partisan towards him in their younger years. 

Draco praised her work in Charms and complimented her teaching style, pointing out that she had explained and demonstrated the Transforming Charm to him in the shortest time, her instruction being efficient and enthusiastic. Asking her if she’d ever considered applying to Flitwick for an apprenticeship and training to be a Charms mistress, Malfoy showed interest in her future, coming out with a very practical and appealing suggestion. Hermione would have to look in to that, for she liked the idea of teaching very much, and her love of Charms was well-known.

The afternoon was still bright and sunny, and she was looking forward to a cool bath before dinner in the Great Hall that evening. She knew he would kiss her at the door, she’d resigned herself to that, but what she hadn’t expected was that during the kiss, he would slip his hand behind her and push open the door that she was holding ajar, and back her into her own bedchamber.

“Draco!” she gasped, breaking the kiss and trying to push him back out of her room. “You can’t be in here!”

“Hogwarts clearly says I can,” he smirked, “I haven’t seen anything turn into a slide to turf me out, yet.”

Shit. Her presumption that the guest chamber would have the same protection as the girls’ dormitories was clearly wrong. All manner of visitors, adult witches and wizards, would use these rooms, so the restricting charms had not been applied to them.

He hoicked his wand from his sleeve and cast Colloportus at the door, which slammed shut and locked itself securely with a loud clunk, then turned back to her, his expression not unpleasant, but hungry and searching. 

“What are you doing?”

“Relax, Granger. Just ensuring a little privacy. I’ve been a model boyfriend today. No one in this castle doubts that we are together – in every possible way. I’ve essentially claimed you.”

“I’m not a possession, Malfoy,” she countered. 

“I know you aren’t,” he replied, stepping towards her and pulling the end of her tie so that it slithered from around her neck. “I want you to want me. It’s time for you to reward me for my hard work today. Trust me, I won’t disappoint you.”

He kissed her, hard, backing her against the solid wood bedpost, pushing his tongue into her mouth and taking his first grasp of her breast.

“Ow!” she cried, “You can’t do that. They’re too sensitive to be touched at the moment, because of my pregnancy.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be more gentle. But I do need to touch them.”

“Draco, I really want you to leave. This is all too much.”

“Oh, give over, Granger!” he shot back, annoyed. “You didn’t get in that condition by having a quick snog by the Black Lake. If you’re dirty enough to fuck Severus Snape, who I know for a fact is a filthy sexual deviant, I’ll be like vanilla ice-cream in comparison.”

“I mean it, Draco. Don’t spoil things, please just go. I’ll see you at dinner.”

He seized hold of her face, pressing her back into the bedpost, and the threatening manner she’d seen him use on Ginny that morning was now directed at her. 

“I’m not leaving this room,” he hissed, dropping his head and sinking his teeth painfully into her neck. 

-xxx-

Severus Apparated into a dark, partly-concealed corner of Knockturn Alley and immediately cast a Disillusionment charm upon himself, for he could not simply stroll out in public. It was unfortunate that one could not Apparate whilst Disillusioned, but he’d planned this perfectly. He knew this grotty corner, no one would be here during the day to see him, for it was a favourite haunt for wizards to prostitute their arses late at night. 

Taking care not to bump in to anyone, he made his way down the narrow Knockturn Alley, and then turned left in to Diagon Alley, his destination being the ornate stone building at the end of the street. 

He had business at Gringotts. As he entered the tall doors, he felt his Disillusionment melt away, for such enchantments were forbidden here. He supposed they must have tightened their security even further since Hermione, Potter and Weasley had managed to break in, steal from a private vault and escape on their imprisoned dragon. The thought still made him smile, the sheer daring of that mission never ceased to amaze him. 

Severus was conscious of a few pairs of eyes fall upon him as he entered the bank, for he cut a distinctive and recognisable figure. He approached a desk, where a sharp-eyed goblin regarded him with suspicion, which was not unusual since goblins despised wizards, and regarded them all with suspicion. 

“I wish to empty my vault, taking a small bag of mixed coin to not exceed thirty Galleons in total, and transferring the rest into my Muggle bank account, for which you already hold the details for a magical transfer.”

“And do you have identification, Professor Snape?”

“I do not currently possess a registered wand, as you are no doubt aware.”

“Very well. Place your hand here, please.”

Severus gripped on to the silver Probity probe that the goblin held out, which would enable him to detect any concealment of his customer’s identity. It amused him that anyone would wish to disguise themselves as the country’s most wanted wizard. 

“That is satisfactory. Your vault key?”

He handed it over. 

“Wait here.”

The goblin jumped down from his high stool, and shuffled along the back of the other tellers’ desks, his hairy feet and overlong toenails scratching audibly across the tiled floor, before disappearing into the back door that led into the upper level vaults. Snape was not wealthy enough to have one of the deep, expansive vaults that belonged to such families as the Malfoys, the Blacks and the Lestranges. 

Severus hoped the goblin would not take too long, for he was beginning to sweat at being out in public, openly revealing himself to be alive for the first time. But he’d needed his money, and this was the only way to do it. He had built up a fine amount of savings in his vault, his income far exceeding his expenditure as he’d lived eleven months of the year at Hogwarts for twenty years. He would need every bit of that money to be able to start a new life. 

Gringotts was not particularly busy that day, but the few witches and wizards milling around were certainly beginning to mutter amongst themselves. He kept a keen eye on everyone’s positions, because as soon as one of them left the building, they would most likely shout for the Aurors. He wondered if any of them had already left as soon as he walked in, for he had been momentarily distracted giving instructions to the goblin. 

Severus had no such worries about the bank’s ugly little staff members, however, for goblins didn’t give a shit about wizards, they were well known for their rudeness and contempt, and didn’t care who their customers were, so long as they were kept in profitable business. 

At length, his goblin began to shuffle back to his desk, achingly slowly, climbing up the small ladder to seat himself back on the stool. 

“Your vault has been emptied and the transfer effected into your Muggle bank account. Here is the parchment record of said transfer, and your bag of mixed Galleons, Sickles and Knuts, totalling thirty Galleons. Is that all you require?” 

Severus took the sheet of parchment and the soft, brown money pouch from the goblin, and slipped them into the inner pocket of his coat to keep them safe. 

“I am obliged to you,” he said, by way of thanks, for goblins derided politeness, demonstrated as the goblin ignored him, returning to the figures he was painstakingly copying into a ledger. 

Considering himself dismissed, Severus took a deep breath and prepared to leave the protective walls of Gringotts. He only had to make it down the first step before he was outside the protective wards of the bank, and then he could Disillusion himself again. His boots made no sound as he stalked across the highly-polished tiles, although he was sure he could actually hear the panicked thump of his heart, beating hard and rapid against his chest wall as he pushed open the main door. 

He would not be the first to reach the top step, for that had already been claimed by a trio of faces that he unfortunately recognised. 

“Well, if it isn’t the mighty Severus Snape,” the filthy man jeered. “You ran fast, but you couldn’t hide forever, could you? I reckon there’s some people who’d be quite interested in talking to you.”

He had no time to do anything but protect his head as the first blows landed upon him.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No NEWT scores were worth this. She needed to get out, and she needed to get Severus out, too. He could have been gone weeks ago, concealed himself safely, if he hadn’t been supporting her choice to return to school.

Hermione bit his lip, hard, and Draco lurched back in shock, roughly wiping the freshly-drawn blood from his mouth. 

“So, to confirm, Malfoy,” she asked, angrily, “you believe that because you’ve made me this ludicrous offer, an offer that I was stupid enough to accept as I actually thought you had some genuine feelings of contrition, that you are now entitled to me, as if I were nothing more than a chattel?”

“The arrangement benefits us both, Granger, don’t you dare pretend otherwise.”

“I am not. I agreed to this because it saves me awkward questions and allows me a peaceful existence here at school.”

“Rather callous, don’t you think?” he sneered, pulling his wand and applying a cursory healing spell to his split lip. 

“You’re calling me callous? You accosted me in the corridor and blackmailed me until I accepted you!”

“I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Because it was easier not to. Do you honestly think I’m happy that people think I’m pregnant by you?”

Malfoy visibly winced, but soon recovered his spiky demeanour. 

“Where else are you going to find a father for that bastard kid?”

“She has a father! And stop calling her that!”

A devious, unpleasant smile of comprehension spread across his face, and he stepped back towards her, invading her personal space yet again. 

“Has a father? Or had?”

Hermione felt the now-familiar cold dread drip down her spine. 

“Which is it, Granger?”

“Had … of course,” she stumbled, not even fooling herself, let alone Malfoy. 

“You’re lying. That slippery bastard is still alive, isn’t he?”

Raising her chin, she stared defiantly at him, not answering his accusations. 

“I should have fucking known it. That’s why you’re not responding to me, you’re still in love with him, aren’t you, you stupid little bitch? And that’s who you were with when you returned to your chambers at one o’clock in the morning!”

“How would you know about that?”

“I saw you, idiot. I was Disillusioned and waiting outside in the corridor. I’d been waiting for Filch to stop prowling so I could sneak in and see you. Instead, I saw your door open and close, which was clearly you leaving the chamber under a cloaking charm, and then return an hour later, although you obviously didn’t feel you needed to conceal yourself on the return journey. You looked happy though. Good, was he? I’m surprised he can still get it up, at his age.”

Shit, shit, shit. 

“I’m not going to spend the rest of the school year being blackmailed by you, Malfoy, so let’s stop this right now.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands, Granger. Play my game, or I’ll not only spread the word that you’re carrying the bastard lovechild of Severus Snape, who repeatedly raped you when you were his student, but I’ll also make a quick Floo call to the Auror Office to advise them I have information that Snape is indeed still alive, and that will have them even harder on his trail than they are already.”

Hermione wanted to hex the self-satisfaction right off his handsome face. How could she have been taken in by him? It was her own fault, she supposed, for always wanting to see the good in people – she should have gone with her gut instinct and run a mile from Draco Malfoy, rather than trying to clutch desperately to what she believed was a realistic way to stay in Hogwarts without too much hassle. 

No NEWT scores were worth this. She needed to get out, and she needed to get Severus out, too. He could have been gone weeks ago, concealed himself safely, if he hadn’t been supporting her choice to return to school. 

Malfoy was absolutely right about one thing, though, she was an idiot. If she hadn’t been suffering from academic tunnel vision, focusing solely on those record-breaking seven NEWTs that she coveted, and actually thought about the reality of her situation, she would have been long gone, with Severus. 

“Had a little think, have you? Realised I’m your best option? But secretly shagging that greasy old bastard is not part of the deal, Granger. That’d better not happen again, I don’t want Snape’s second-hand cunt.”

“You don’t think that’s what you have already, Malfoy? I am pregnant with his baby, after all.”

“That is my baby. We agreed.”

“This is not your baby. She belongs to me and Severus. We are going to be together, and you are not going to get in our way. I no longer care what you say to anyone, do your worst, in fact. Now get out of my room, because I am going to him, right now.”

Hermione drew her wand and attempted to head towards the door, but was stopped by Draco’s surprisingly strong hand on her shoulder, whirling her back around. 

“I think I made myself clear. You aren’t going anywhere. Incarcerous!”

In a flash, she found herself standing flat against the bedpost, bound to the wooden pillar with magical ropes cast from the end of his wand. He plucked her own carved vinewood from her fingers and set it deliberately on the mantelpiece, well out of her reach. 

“I’m just trying to help you, Granger.”

“You don’t want to help me. You just want a convenient piece to fuck when it suits you.”

“It’s disappointing that you think so. We are going to be so much than that. Now, I’m not going to risk kissing you again just yet,” he drawled, touching his healing lip, “but there are plenty of other ways I can take my pleasure from you.”

He cast a silencing charm upon the room, and began to lift her skirt. 

-xxx-

Severus hit the step as the well-aimed kick took out his bad kneecap. Fucking Scabior had seen that broken the first time, and had obviously known just where to place his attacking boot in order to bring his quarry to the floor, where he and his two ragged accomplices proceeded to rain down punches and kicks upon him. 

He heard the gasps of bystanders, and from his half-closed eye saw a gaggle of goblins who had shuffled out of Gringotts to see what all the commotion on their front steps was about. Cradling his arms around his skull in order to protect it from the worst of the damage, and forcing himself to focus, Severus needed to think and act, and do it fucking quickly. 

The fracas would soon attract the attention of the Aurors, who would swoop upon Gringotts and have him arrested and in a holding cell before you could say ‘Azkaban’. 

Who was attacking him? 

Scabior, for one, the assumed leader of the Snatchers, a self-formed militia of wizard mercenaries who were less able and less competent than Voldemort’s Death Eaters, whom they had been subordinate to. Snatchers had become prolific during the war, seeking financial reward from the Ministry, then under Voldemort’s control, for capturing so-called ‘Undesirables’ and forcibly turning them in. 

Since they were not bearers of the Dark Mark, and had argued they were simply following the orders of the Ministry at that time, the vast majority of Snatchers had escaped with their liberty, although it was understood that they continued to live on the margins of wizarding society, scraping a living through less-than-scrupulous means. 

Handing Severus Snape over to the Auror Office would be a coup for them indeed, and see them paid handsomely. 

The Prophet had made it clear that his exoneration for war crimes had been revoked, and the rumours that he had somehow survived were growing in number and credence. Severus had no doubt that even if he was given a limited sentence in Azkaban, he would not survive the first week, for the prison was full of Death Eaters who had nothing to do but visit vengeance upon him for his treachery. 

He had to get away. There was no other option. 

The only glimmer of hope that he had on his side was that Snatchers were, for the most part, incredibly stupid. As punishment for their actions during the war, all known Snatchers had had their wands confiscated for a fixed period, and were unable to Apparate – this knowledge would serve him well, knowing they would need him unconscious in order to take him anywhere, or to hold him until Aurors could be summoned. 

Severus allowed his body to fall limp, no longer reacting to their beating. This meant he took an unprotected kick to the head, which felt like his brain was exploding inside his skull, but he’d had worse. 

Believing him to be unconscious, one of the Snatchers that he could not name called for someone in the gawping crowd to summon the Aurors. The other two ran their hands down his sleeves, searching for his wand. They pulled out the plain, unregistered wand and he heard the snap of wood and their crow of victorious delight. No doubt the ferals were already planning how they would spend their reward Galleons.

Clearly, they had no concept of wandless magic. As they released their hold on him, he rolled over down to the second step that took him outside the protective wards of Gringotts, the twisting motion enough to launch him into his Apparition. He landed in the middle of his mother’s living room a split-second later. 

That had been too fucking close, and now he had been seen openly in public, there was not a moment to lose. Every second would count, as he had no doubt the Aurors would be in Diagon Alley even now, listening to eyewitness accounts of exactly whom they had seen, and dealing with the hapless Scabior and his two thugs.

Severus half-staggered, half-hopped to the fireplace, and threw in the Floo powder, lurching through the green flames and onto the hearth of the Hogwarts library. 

Eileen was taking a small class of students, who screamed when he landed on the floor, covered in soot and with blood dripping down his face. 

“Out, all of you!” his mother shouted, locking and warding the door behind their retreating footsteps. “Severus! What has happened?”

“The time is now, mother. I have revealed myself, and the reaction was not a good one, as you can see.”

“Oh, my boy. What can I do?”

“Your wand. I need your wand, please.”

She pulled the nondescript oak wand that was registered to Irma Pince from her robes and passed it to him. He cast an Episkey upon his knee, and she winced as his kneecap cracked into place, watching him then cast a healing spell to try and reduce the pain and swelling. At least he’d be able to stand now, however painful it was. 

“Do you want to keep the wand?” she offered. 

“No. You will need it, and I do not want you implicated in any way. I shall … I shall contact you as soon as I am able. You do know that?”

“I know that. Are you here to collect Miss Granger?”

“I am going to ask her if she is prepared to accompany me. She has said she will, but faced with the reality of an immediate departure she may be less than keen. If she opts to stay, you will watch over her, support her?”

“You know I will.”

He nodded, curtly, and his mother returned it. It had long been established as their only form of affection, uncomfortable as they both were with physical contact. Their identical black eyes met for the briefest moment. She understood. 

Turning himself to smoke and shooting through the library door which Eileen had opened for him, Snape flew careering down the corridors and up staircases like an avenging black cyclone. Students screamed and leapt out of the way of this terrifying spectre rampaging through their hallways. He knew not where Hermione would be, and he did not have the luxury of unlimited time to search for her. What he did know, however, was a failsafe method of locating her.

Summoning all his magical power to the centre of his core as he entered the Headmasters’ corridor, he blasted through the gargoyle, smashing it to pieces and swept up through the hole it had left, breaking down the office door, which was like running a hot knife through butter after the centuries-old stone of the gargoyle. 

Minerva McGonagall let out a shriek of terror as he entered the office, whipping out her wand and firing Stunners at the twisting cyclone in front of her. 

“Lower your wand!” he shouted, and she must have recognised his voice, for she did as she was bidden. 

He returned to his bodily form, and her eyes opened as large as dinner plates. 

“Severus Snape! Bloody hell, man, you know how to make an entrance, don’t you? Och, my poor heart!”

She sank back in her large desk chair, her hand clutched to her chest. 

“I apologise Minerva, but I have little time. The Aurors are aware of my continuing ability to draw breath, and it can only be a matter of time before they find me. I am here to use the map of Hogwarts, if you will permit me, for I need to find Miss Granger urgently.”

She did not get a chance to reply, as the door to her private bedchamber opened, and Albus Dumbledore appeared, as clear as day, although slightly dazed and confused. 

“Ah, Minerva, Severus, good to see you both. What can I do for you?”

“Fucking hell, Albus, are you now experimenting with being a ghost?” Severus accused, “Isn’t that bloody portrait enough of a portal for you to torture your successors through?

Dumbledore looked up at the portrait of himself on the wall, which smiled and waved, merrily greeting the physical version of himself. 

“Ah,” Albus said, as if realising something important. “Ah, yes. Well, I thought it would be rather fun. I daresay that I will not remain so permanently. Now, what is happening here?”

“That, you annoying man, is what I am attempting to ascertain,” Minerva replied. 

“I need to use the map, Minerva,” Severus interrupted. “And if you do not allow it I shall overpower you and use it anyway. I need to find Miss Granger, so that I may take her with me.”

“Take Hermione with you? But where are you going, Severus?” asked Minerva, looking completely confused. “Pardon me for my rudeness, but up until three minutes ago I presumed you were dead.”

“Dead?” Albus piped up. “Severus is dead?”

“Dead,” confirmed his portrait. “He was murdered by Voldemort.”

“But clearly not, since he is here now?”

“Of course I am not dead, you irritating old poof, although not for any want of trying on your part,” Severus growled, hot-footing it across the office and ascending the stairs to the top level where the map was located, taking them two at a time. 

He ran his hand across the surface, but the map no longer recognised his credentials. 

“Minerva!”

The current headmistress was already running up the stairs behind him, holding up her long skirts so they did not trip her. With no further questions, she ran her hand across the table, revealing the map of Hogwarts castle that showed everyone’s locations. 

“Hermione Granger, Minerva,” he commanded. “Help me find her.”

“Why do you need Miss Granger, Severus?” she asked, her sharp eyes scanning the hundreds of names that were constantly moving on the map. 

“Because I love her. And because she carries my child.”

Minerva gasped. 

“Is her child not fathered by Draco Malfoy?”

“No, it fucking is not, Minerva. That baby is mine.”

“You? Yours? Your baby, Severus? You and Miss Granger are expecting a baby?” 

This was from Albus, who had ascended the stairs behind them rather speedily, and the three Heads of Hogwarts stood behind the map, searching together for the one name that was eluding them.

“You should know this, Albus, for you were the one who forced her upon me in the first place,” Severus hissed. “Well, your odd little plan succeeded, for I love her, and she reciprocates that love. She is the only one I trust, the only one who will stand up for me, the only one who will speak the truth about me. I survived all that you threw at me, because of her.”

“You did? Well, that was awfully clever of me,” Albus replied. “Then you must certainly fetch her, Severus, fetch Miss Granger and your child, and do what needs to be done.”

“I intend to,” he muttered, letting out a growl of frustration as he continued to search the names. 

“There, Severus!” Minerva exclaimed, pointing to Hermione’s name. “Why, she’s in her room, the Gryffindor chamber in the guest wing. I looked there first, she wasn’t there a minute ago?”

There was another name in her direct vicinity, alternating with her own. 

Draco Malfoy. 

What the bloody hell was that little shit doing in Hermione’s private chamber? If he was fucking her, Severus would personally remove Malfoy’s prick from his body. 

“Go, Severus. And Godspeed.”

“Drop the wards, Minerva. Please. Just until I am gone. Trust me, the Aurors will soon be here.”

She nodded, and drew her wand. 

Severus did not answer, but turned himself to smoke again and hurtled back the way he had come, chasing down the corridors and scattering students in his wake. Approaching the Gryffindor guest corridor, he concentrated all his magic on her door, building up speed so that he could crash right through it. 

The sight before him was pitiful. 

Hermione, his Hermione, was bound to the bedpost with magical ropes, her skirt pulled up but he could see she was still wearing her knickers. Malfoy was laying on the floor a few feet away from her, apparently in extreme pain but unable to move. 

She had extricated a hand from the magical bindings, although it was still secured from the wrists upwards to the side of her body, but her core magic was flowing from her palm, which was held upwards and emitting the spell that was keeping Malfoy at bay. 

It was exactly as he had taught her, to summon her core magic and release it through her palm, should she ever find herself without a wand. Merlin, she was outstanding, and despite the tears that were tracking her cheeks, her eyes shone with her sheer power and capability. 

Casting a Finite Incantatum upon her to release the ropes, she sagged into his arms, letting the spell that was holding Malfoy finally drop. The boy leapt to his feet, and made to run, but Severus was too quick for him, grabbing hold of his arm. 

“You do not touch this girl, again, Mr Malfoy, do you hear me? he threatened, his voice dripping with danger. “She is mine. You have had everything else from me, my tutelage, my protection, my blood and my very soul, that I broke to save yours. You may not have her.”

Draco stared at his former professor, his ice-blue eyes full of fear, and what appeared to be remorse, although Severus would be damned if he allowed himself to be taken in by that shit. 

“Get. Out. And there is no need to run bleating to anybody, for I am already revealed and the Aurors are undoubtedly on their way.”

The boy did not need to be told twice, racing away through the shattered remains of Hermione’s chamber door, to where, Severus knew not. 

He turned to Hermione, and she lifted her hand to his face, stroking her fingertips over the cuts and bruises that were darkening there, received on the steps of Gringotts. 

“It is time, my angel. If you wish to stay, I will not stand in your way, but I am leaving now, for I have no choice if I am to avoid Azkaban.”

She walked across the room and collected her wand from the mantelpiece where Malfoy had placed it, and picked up her beaded bag and slung it across her body, packed with the essentials that Severus had instructed her to have ready. 

“We are with you,” she replied, simply. “No NEWT is worth losing you for.”

“Hold tightly to me,” he commanded, clamping both his arms around her. 

Severus kissed her forehead, before returning himself to smoke, transforming her with him. Gathering speed, he crashed through the huge window of her guest chamber, reminding him painfully of the night he had fled, the night of the final battle. 

Speeding across the grounds like an ominous black twister, he hoped with all his might that Minerva had lowered the wards as she had promised. 

As they passed over the boundary wall, seeing the cluster of Aurors at the gate, seeking entrance, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Severus doubted anyone would catch them now. 

With Hermione and their unborn daughter clutched tight against him as he flew them through the warm afternoon air, in a cloud of smoke and gaining height to conceal them from Muggle eyes, he could finally protect them, finally claim them as his own.

They were his angels to fly, and they indeed had a long flight ahead of them. 

-xxx-

McGonagall felt the shudder of Severus and Hermione leaving the school, and raised the wards again to secure the castle. Where they were headed now, she had no idea. 

The ghost Dumbledore continued to pace around the office as if he owned it, most curiously taken with his own portrait. 

He was too interested in it. 

Minerva narrowed her eyes with suspicion and approached Albus quietly from behind, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder and bracing herself for the unpleasant freezing sensation that occurred when one made bodily contact with a ghost. Merlin knows, Sir Nicholas had come too close to her on far too many occasions. 

The chilling sensation did not come. Her hand simply rested on his shoulder.

“Just as I suspected!” she crowed, turning him around to face her. “When are you from, Albus?”

“Not far back, Minerva,” he twinkled. “Just this morning you gave me this Time Turner, having confiscated it from Hermione Granger, although it seems that saving Sirius Black and an innocent hippogriff was an excellent use of it. Before returning it to its rightful place at the Ministry, I must confess I have quite enjoyed fiddling around with it.”

“Fiddling around with it? Albus Dumbledore, are you aware that you have managed to send yourself forward in time, rather than back? And by years, not just a few hours?”

“Guilty as charged,” he smiled, shaking his head in amusement. “Although I am not sure I’m entirely enjoying the experience. Seeing into the future is best left to Professor Trelawney, I think. Although, having seen the fate of poor Severus, I am convinced that there is some action I can take to bring about his future happiness, even his survival. I shall not forget what I have seen tonight.”

“Are you about to meddle with his life, Albus?”

“I think if I do not, the poor boy will not have the confidence to do it himself. I can aid him, although I daresay he will hate me bitterly for it at times.”

“I do not doubt that. But then Severus hates everybody.”

“Although for Miss Granger he seems to have made an exception.”

“Then my plan, which I have not yet devised, seems to have worked. Now, Minerva, when I return to my own time, I shall place this Time Turner here, in the compartment under Fawkes’ cage where I keep his bird seed. You will find it, and return it to the Ministry, where it belongs.”

McGonagall took hold of his hands, squeezing them tightly. 

“You are an exceptional wizard, Albus Dumbledore. And I miss you dearly.”

“If I were not gone, you would not be Headmistress, dear lady. I am sure you are doing a fine job.”

He kissed the knuckles of both her hands, doffed his silver cap with the flamboyant tassel, and returned to the bedchamber through the connecting door. 

“I have gone,” his portrait advised, after a few minutes. 

Minerva walked over to the perch left vacant by Fawkes, Dumbledore’s beloved pet phoenix, and pulled open the little drawer underneath. There, dusty and half-hidden in old packets of bird seed, was the Time Turner. She drew it into her palm, admiring the intricacies of the little device with so much power. 

Too much power. 

She placed it on her desk, drew her wand, and cast a Reducto upon it, blasting the Time Turner into a million pieces, that she Evanesco’ed from existence.

“That’s a shame, Minerva,” interjected the portrait. “You could have had some fun with that.”

“I’m not sure I approve of your kind of fun, Albus,” she chided, and looked around the office. 

Her next job would be to fix the door and gargoyle that Severus had blasted to smithereens. Perhaps it was time for a full redecoration. Portraits included. 

She winked at the interfering Headmaster with the outrageously twinkling blue eyes. 

Maybe not that one.


	41. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man would sweep the girl up and kiss her so passionately, as if they were a pair of star-crossed lovers who were destined never to see one another again after that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liked it, loved it, loathed it? Drop me a review in the comments section, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Epilogue

Mr and Mrs Wilkins, of number four, Willow Tree Crescent, were proud to say they were perfectly abnormal, thank you very much.

A pair of professional dentists by trade, they had moved to the small Australian coastal village of Woolmara Crossing a few years earlier, attracted by the views, the tranquillity - and by the rumours of witchcraft that the villagers themselves did nothing to deny.   
Many unexplained incidents had been reported as happening in Woolmara Crossing, and visitors tended not to stay very long, finding the residents a little too … odd for their tastes. 

In short, the village was generally left to its own devices, a quirky little place with oddly shaped houses for curious people. 

Monica Wilkins loved everything about it. 

She couldn’t quite remember when her interest in all things magical had started, but her obsession had grown over the years. Her husband, Wendell, had been fairly amused at first, but he soon became just as enthralled by the news cuttings and stories that she began to gather, the books on witchcraft and wizardry that she compulsively checked out of the library, and her insistence that she knew magic to be real, but couldn’t explain why. 

A chance visit to Woolmara Crossing had whet her appetite, and before she and Wendell had left that day, they’d already viewed the house that was to become theirs. 

Willow Tree Crescent was a small, crescent-shaped pathway that was home to seven houses, set just across the road from a sandy beach. Monica had decided that number four would be their new home before they’d even crossed the threshold. 

She just knew it. 

Wendell had rolled his eyes and capitulated to his younger wife, as he always did. If Monica just knew something, they just had to run with it. Keeping his wife happy was no hardship, and the house was beautiful, in a wonderfully secluded location, and they loved their neighbours as dearly as if they were family. 

The couple next door had caught her attention not long after they moved in. A dark-haired man with severe but handsome features, lived there with his much younger wife (or partner, Monica wasn’t sure if they were actually married, since they wore no rings) their noticeable age difference reminding Monica a little of Wendell and herself. 

The girl … there was something ethereal about her that had captured Monica’s heart from the first time she’d laid eyes on her. Heavily pregnant when she and Wendell had moved in, Monica often saw the girl walking about in the garden, her curly hair blowing about her face in the sea breeze, looking serene and content. 

Monica was drawn to her. She could not tell if it was her beauty, her sweet nature, or something else entirely – but there was something ‘other-worldly’ about her, as if the girl had lived a thousand lifetimes, and knew everything there was to know. 

The couple did not seem to have any family. No one ever visited, but they appeared to like it that way. The man would stride down to the harbour every morning, dressed in head-to-toe black, and along with many of the other residents of the curious village, would board a boat that took him away for the day, returning at dusk. The girl would always be at the gate without fail to greet him, his lined face lighting up as he saw her waiting for his return. 

The man would sweep the girl up and kiss her so passionately, as if they were a pair of star-crossed lovers who were destined never to see one another again after that moment. 

Sometimes their kisses would be so raw, so visceral, that Monica would need to look away, breathless, fearing that she was intruding on an intensely private and painful moment.

The baby girl had been born without noise or fuss, and no ambulances had been called. One day she was just simply … there. Favouring her father, the pale-skinned infant had arrived with a shock of jet black hair and huge black eyes. 

Small chats over the garden fence as the girl walked her new baby around the lawn, singing softly to her, became an invitation to for her to come over and hold the child, and led, over time to cups of tea and long lunches. They grew close, with Monica and Wendell accepting the baby as a grandchild, so enamoured were they of her. 

The baby girl grew into an irrepressible toddler without a care in the world, her black hair beginning to bend in the same way that her mother’s curls did. 

Wendell sawed a gap in the fence that connected their two gardens together, and made a child-sized little gate that the small girl would often use, and her mother would find her on the neighbouring lawn making daisy chains with her assumed grandparents. 

Wendell and Monica had no children, so the gift of the child-next-door’s company was an exquisite one. 

-xxx-

Eileen Prince had flown to Australia on a Muggle aeroplane, met at the airport by the curious sight of her son, lightly tanned and casually dressed, driving a motor car. 

Severus had corresponded with her for a year after they had left Britain, regular owls that documented their progress – his work, Hermione’s pregnancy, and the subsequent birth of their healthy daughter. 

Finally, Eileen could wait no longer, and handed in her notice at Hogwarts, ready to be rid of Irma Pince forever. 

She purchased number six, Willow Tree Crescent, a small two-bedroomed house next door to Severus and Hermione, where her granddaughter could stay the night when she wished. 

The heat and sunlight soon turned Eileen’s skin from deathly pale to the same light tan as her son. She allowed her long, greying-black hair to flow loose in the breeze, no longer scraping it back into the severe bun that she had worn all her adult life. She looked in every way the epitome of how a mature witch should look.

Eileen felt free, and her magic felt new and vital. The demons of her past began to fade in the sunshine, and in the love of her son and grandchild. She loved Hermione too, but wished that Severus would make an honest witch of the girl. Eileen Prince finally began to smile again, and found a new joy in every day. 

Woolmara Crossing was an almost fully wizarding enclave, and the few Muggles who lived there were either aware of the magical world, or were tolerant of their rather odd neighbours. She had developed a warm relationship with the Wilkins, a Muggle couple whom Hermione had explained were actually her real parents, but due to a precocious Obliviate she had placed upon them during the last year of the war, they were unlikely ever to remember that. 

Eileen would watch Monica playing with the baby in the garden between their two homes, so loving and gentle, but never knowing she was the child’s true grandmother. She would never know. Eileen’s softening heart wept for them both, for this half-relationship had to be enough for Hermione, her mother could not be fully returned to her. 

Her fine son would leave every morning for work, taking the boat from the harbour, never once neglecting to bestow a passionate kiss upon his partner. Severus would never allow Hermione to feel unloved, not for one day. He was attentive, caring, and Eileen burst with pride every day at the man he had become, from such inauspicious beginnings. 

Eileen would often accompany Severus to the water’s edge, lingering to talk to the harbour workers once the boat had left. A grizzly old wizard called Gerald, a former sailor with a bright ginger beard, would invite her to take tea with him before returning home, and sometimes she would. 

Sometimes she wouldn’t, but did not like the sad look in his eyes when she refused him, so she more often than not made time for tea, if she were not required to help care for her granddaughter that day. 

Eileen liked Gerald. He was kind and gentle, a huge man made burly from his work on the harbour. One day, she would invite him into her home for dinner, for this wizard was nothing like Tobias.

One day. 

-xxx-

Angel Granger-Snape skipped back through the little gate that led from Granma and Granpa Wilkins’ garden, and back into her own, which was number five. She had sneaked a glass of pink lemonade and a tiny pink cupcake and sensibly eaten them out of sight, hidden with Granma in the kitchen. 

Angel ran to the front gate of her own house, watched over by Granma, as they had heard the school boat return to the harbour, which meant that Mumma and Dadda would soon be home. 

Dadda was a teacher at the school on the magic island, and he would go there every morning in a long black cloak and come home every night. Mumma said he was a scary teacher that made all the children scared of him. This made Angel giggle, because Dadda wasn’t scary at all, especially when she tweaked his big nose or plaited his long hair. 

This year, Mumma had started at the school on the magic island too, she was going to be a teacher now. 

Mumma had stayed at home with Angel when she was a little baby, but now she was four years old and a big girl, Angel was going to stay with either Granma Wilkins or Granma Prince and have fun, while Mumma did lessons to learn how to be a teacher.   
Granma Wilkins would sometimes take her to the surgery where she worked, where she and Granpa would mend people’s teeth. There wasn’t much magic there, although she liked to make their equipment float around when they weren’t looking, giggling when Granpa couldn’t find his mouth mirror, or his rubber gloves. 

Granma Prince would read to her from her big book of magical fairytales, making her eyes widen with stories of Babbity Rabbity, The Witch and the Hopping Pot, and her favourite; The Fountain of Fair Fortune. 

Angel knew that Granma Prince was magic, like Mumma and Dadda and her. Granma and Granpa Wilkins were not magic. That meant they were Muggles. But they knew a little bit about magic, and it was okay to do magic in front of them. 

In seven years, when she was finally eleven and a grown-up witch, she herself would go on the boat to the big school with Mumma and Dadda. 

Angel thought that seemed like an awfully long time to wait. 

-xxx-

Hermione stepped off the boat and walked on to the unplottable island for the first time, amazed at the size and scale of the castle that had come into view as they had sailed closer. 

This was Oceania – the witchcraft and wizardry school for the magical children of Australia, New Zealand, and the hundreds of surrounding islands, and today was the first day of her apprenticeship under the renowned Charms master, Professor Mainwaring. She had already survived two interviews with the man; he was definitely not easy to impress, and Hermione was certain the stern professor would challenge her to do her very best. 

She had completed the Australian equivalent of the NEWT exams on a course of home study whilst caring for Angel as a young baby, leaving her qualified and ready to start her apprenticeship once Angel was old enough to be left for the day. Having Eileen on one side and her own parents on the other, there was always a willing pair of hands keen to spend time with Angel. 

Her daughter was stunning. Despite Severus’ fears that Angel would end up looking like a female version of himself, in reality it was no bad thing. There was no a Snape child wasn’t going to inherit the black hair and eyes, for that gene was so dominant, but it was madly curly, just like Hermione’s own. 

Oceania was built on the top of an atoll that jutted out of the sea like an enormous rook, almost fully surrounded by a beautiful coral reef, that encircled the huge lagoon. Students could either board at the school, or arrive and depart each day using the magical boats that left from harbours in magical villages like Woolmara Crossing, or from the many islands. The school harbours and boat houses could be found deep inside the lagoon. It was a stunning place to work, and Hermione was delighted that they had both secured teaching positions there. 

Severus, for the first time in his career, had simply been able to teach, with no other obligations apart from his own, and had found to his utter surprise, that he quite enjoyed the experience. 

Free to set his own syllabus, he had opted for DADA over Potions, since he felt that was his strongest area, but he’d set up one of the spare rooms at home as a Potions laboratory, where he continued to research and experiment with rare potions. He also enjoyed brewing very basic recipes with Angel, and watching their twin raven heads bent over a bubbling cauldron was something that Hermione enjoyed peeking her head around the door to see. 

She herself couldn’t wait to start teaching and learning. They had decided against any more babies for the time being, since Angel had not been planned and Hermione was still so very young, with a career that she was desperate to get started in. There would be plenty of time for more children in the future, when and if they decided to expand their family. 

Occasionally though, Hermione would cry. 

She would cry for the friends she had lost, cry for the parents she had Obliviated, and cry for the life she had left behind. 

And on those occasions, her wonderful Severus would scoop her up into his arms, take her to bed and pour his love into her, reminding her of why she’d made the choices she had. 

And every time, she would remember. 

-xxx-

Severus walked along the beach, hand-in-hand with his small daughter, kicking up the sand and surf as they shuffled along. He was barefoot, his black trousers rolled to mid-calf and a white shirt casually held together with a few buttons. The skin of his chest was no longer alabaster white, but lightly tanned, and he found himself unashamed of his scars, and felt no need to keep them covered. He had kept his hair long, and it blew gently around his face as they walked. 

Angel was also barefoot, squealing at the feel of the wet sand between her toes. Her flowery dress, no doubt one of his mother’s creations, was already a little wet and dirty, but it was no matter, for the child was having fun. Hermione would soon join them, she was just putting the finishing touches to her first assignment for Professor Mainwaring, and he knew she wanted it to be perfect. 

He’d swept Angel up from the living room where she’d been disturbing her mother and headed across the quiet road to the beach, enjoying this time alone with his precious child, a child he never in a million years thought he would be lucky enough to have.   
His daughter was beautiful, favouring him in her looks, but in a softer, more subtle way. He had no doubt he would be the most staggeringly over-protective father the world had ever known, particularly when Angel left for school. 

Oceania, the witchcraft and wizardry school where he and Hermione now both worked, took both boarders and day pupils, but the overwhelming majority of students opted to board, wanting the full school experience, which included clubs and societies that ran outside of school hours, Quidditch above the coral reef and those all-important late nights trying not to get caught by the staff on patrol. 

It was not so different to Hogwarts, and yet it was half a world away. They could never return to Britain – they had made their choice when Hermione had snapped her wand outside London Heathrow airport, from where they had flown to Australia using their Muggle passports after fleeing the castle that day. This had signified her voluntary exit from wizarding Britain. 

Once settled in the wizarding enclave of Woolmara Crossing, they had travelled to Sydney to a hidden magical street, not dissimilar to Diagon Alley, where they’d finally met with the wandmaker, who had fitted them for their new, permanent wands.   
Severus’ new wand was a rich mahogany, so dark brown that it appeared black, which suited him. It had no markings, other than a slight carving to the handle which aided his grip. Hermione’s was hornbeam, intricately carved like her first wand, and both wands had a dragon heartstring core. Their new wands soon began to bend themselves to their magical signatures, and that vital connection between a witch or wizard and their wand started to form. 

They had made a good life for themselves, made complete when Hermione’s parents had unwittingly been drawn to the magical aura of Woolmara Crossing, and possibly to their forgotten daughter as they purchased the house next door. 

Severus knew that Hermione was distraught that she could not restore their memories, but their current relationship was at least a comfort – the time she spent with them where they’d told her they wished for a daughter, bringing tears of regret to her eyes – tears that he’d kissed away, reassuring her once again that she had made the right choice to move them. 

Bringing his own mother over from Britain had been the last piece of the puzzle, ensuring her safety and happiness meant a great deal to him, although he wasn’t particularly impressed with her attentions towards the hairy, ginger harbour wizard who took her for tea every morning. He was too Weasley for Severus’ liking. 

“Mumma!”

Angel was jumping up and down in the shallow water, waving her hands at Hermione, who was indeed walking down the sandy beach towards them, looking like an angel herself in a long summer dress, abundant hair flowing and glinting in the sunshine, her feet beautifully bare. 

How on earth had he managed to keep this witch for his own? It defied all reasonable sense. 

He smiled as Hermione lifted Angel into a warm hug, kissing their daughter on her chubby cheeks and (thankfully) tiny nose as Angel played with her curls, pulling her mother’s face close to her own. Once the requisite amount of kisses had been accepted, Angel wriggled to get down, wanting her little feet back in the slippery surf. 

Severus stepped behind Hermione and wrapped his long arms around her, kissing her cheek, her temple, her ear, her neck, and enjoyed feeling her shiver against him. 

“I love you today, as I do every day,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” she replied, looking out at the horizon, their adored daughter splashing in the foreground. 

He swallowed hard, for the oddest question had suddenly appeared at the forefront of his mind, making a lump form in his throat that meant he had to ask it – now. 

“Do you wish to bond?” he asked, with a cough.

“That was still a terrible proposal, Severus.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Of course. The time is right. I told you that you would know.”

Severus dropped his mouth to Hermione’s and began to kiss her, sealing their agreement to bond, and dipping down without missing a single beat of the kiss to pick up his daughter, who was now pulling upon his hand. 

Tucking one Angel under his arm, and kissing the other, Severus Snape could only think of how insanely fortunate he was. 

It had all been worth it.


End file.
